Milk Teeth
by SparrowNotes24
Summary: England 1991. Indie rock and bombs, fire and riots. We partied and ran wild, trying to find ourselves amongst the ashes. I found a lot more than that.
1. Chapter 1

**Milk Teeth**

* * *

"I won't tell anyone."

His eyes shine in the dark, brighter than I've ever seen. Fear, I think.

"You can't." His plea is as quiet as the draft around my ankles.

"I won't."

He nods and rises from his crouch in the corner of the room, shoving his hands into his jeans. A shrug that says _This is me_. _Take it or leave it_.

It's too late to let go now.

I nod and close the door behind me.


	2. Chapter 2

**One.**

I creep past the closed door of Mum's bedroom, hooking my fingers into her lipstick-bright heels. She won't be needing them. The amount of time she spends on her back, I'm surprised she bothers spending the little money we have on clothes and shoes at all.

I'm quiet as I can be, leaning on the front door until I hear the click. Not because I'm not allowed out—I can do what I want. But because I want to avoid the fake maternal bonding she tries on like an ill-fitting fur coat when it's least needed.

I lean over the side of our level, spotting the rusty-once-blue Ford Fiesta puffing smoke like frosty breath six floors below. I ignore the disgusting lifts and race down the graffiti-coated stairwells.

Sam is always on time. He knows no one wants to hang around Raleigh Hills after dark. I rap on the window, and he leans over and pulls up the lock that hasn't worked since 1983. A sickly cloud of weed and tropical air freshener swallows me as I get in.

I take the spliff from his hand, balancing it in my mouth while I swap my ratty pumps for the heels.

"Where to, my lady?" He grins, saluting me then shoving the gearstick into first.

"Shut up, Sam. Just get out of here."

"Alright, alright. Jesus. Keep your knickers on."

I glare at him.

"Well, at least until we get there. They won't last long when Ben sees you in that dress."

I don't rise to him, half guessing he's right, tugging down the star covered cotton. "Can we get a move on, please?"

He puts on his toffee, penny farthing voice to wind me up. "Manners like that in a place like this? Well I never."

I blow a cloud of smoke toward him. That anyone could manage to survive this place with their head screwed on straight is something I think about, and doubt, daily. "It's not all about where you're brought up."

"No? What is it then? Who you fuck?"

I hold the burning joint millimeters from his precious interior.

"Okay okay, shit, B. Not the car. Anything but the car." He shuts up and pulls out of the estate I call hell or home depending on the day.

I switch off the shitty house music he's listening to and rummage around in the overflowing glove compartment for a decent tape. I find an abused copy of the Stone Roses stuck between a sticky Wham bar and an out-of-date tax disk.

"She Bangs the Drums" trails out our open windows as we head over to the house party. The first one since school started, and I'm ready to get wasted.

* * *

 _AN: SM owns Twilight, The Stone Roses own this girl who bangs their drums. A little writing exercise set in my world._


	3. Chapter Two

_AN: when they talk about 'school' they are referring to Sixth Form College - which, in England, is the next level up from High School (ages 16-18 for 2 years). Some 6th forms are totally separate colleges with thousands of kids, but in this story, the 6th form is on the same site as the high school with around 100 students, and they have their own building/common rooms/teachers/rules. Bella is in Upper Sixth (aged 17) Hope that helps._

* * *

 **Two.**

The house is already crawling by the time we get there (Angie's parents making the mistake of spending a weekend in their caravan while their home gets destroyed). I think her mum won awards for her roses. Or at least, I think that's what there were before the muddy-pink, vomit-soaked confetti that they are now.

I sniff the bottle Sam hands over to me, finding a place on a hideous green velvet settee, next to an already comatose Angie. It's better she doesn't see what's going on.

I can't hear myself think—some hell is screaming from the stereo in the corner—but then thinking isn't why I'm here. I swallow back the thick cinnamon crap and try not to gag.

The same faces are all around me as always. The same faces who'll be suffering in school tomorrow. Angie is muttering something, and I'm sure she's going to puke, so I stand and let her collapse, her head over the edge of the settee. I slide a fancy copper plant pot underneath, and go and find Ben.

He reaches out and pulls me to his side without a misstep in whatever tall tale he's plying his friends with, his fingers pinching my waist, kneading. I lean into him. Then push him away. Give a little, take a little, give a lot. That's the way this is going to play out, but not yet. I take the glass out of his hand and swill the lot. Vodka. It burns my throat, sends a wave of heat under my skin.

A crash takes everyone's attention into the back garden, where Paul and Jake are fighting over their last brain cell. Ben turns and presses me up against the kitchen counter. His eyes are wide black holes I see myself falling into and probably drowning. He kisses me, sloppy and not dissimilar to an ashtray despite the expensive aftershave he's bathed in. "You wanna go somewhere quieter?" says his hand, sliding up the inside of my thigh.

Ben always gets his way. He's used to it. Or at least he's used to thinking girls like me will let him do whatever he wants. I haven't yet, which makes me an itch he needs to scratch. Makes him think there's something hidden worth winning. There's not, but he doesn't need to know that yet. I slap his hand away and smile. "Are you kidding me? There's probably 150 people in this two bedroom house, where do you think is quiet?"

"My car," he hazards, but I slide out of his grasp and grab a bottle from the fridge.

"This isn't a backseat outfit."

"That's too bad."

"For you, yes."

I smile around the mouth of the bottle, waiting for his eyes to drop to my lips, then I let him watch me walk away.

* * *

AN: Thank you for all the love for this so far. xx


	4. Chapter Three

**Three.**

I find myself outside listening to Rose yell at anyone who isn't taking her poker game seriously—which is everyone. We might be pissed, but we're not totally stupid.

She gives up and throws the pack of cards across the table. "I don't know why I bother."

"You need a different audience, Ro. We know your tricks." She sighs and pulls a battered packet of her mum's Silk Cut out from her bra. I shake my head when she offers me one, the taste of Ben still in my mouth. Not as nice as I remembered. I know he's been looking over when he thinks I'm not, but I don't move from the garden chair printing patterns into my bare legs. "Where's Jessie?"

"Working on the assignment for Cope."

"Have you done it?" I'm halfway to blacking out, so the reminder of the unfinished Psychology assignment doesn't even have the power to increase my heartbeat, nevermind any good intention.

"Nah."

"Good. Bloody, Jessie." It starts to rain, but I tip my head up to it and close my eyes. The garden still dances in them.

* * *

We're a gang of 4.

Angie is frothy clouds in July.

Rose is soft petals and hidden thorns.

And Jessie is our bluebird. Too fragile and too pretty for this place.

I've not decided what I am yet. I'm not a fan of the labels people like to stick on me either: tart, bitch, lost cause.

Maybe I'm the moon.

Cold, remote, and yet men still want to conquer me.

Ange and Jess live in average suburbia, and Rose lives in a castle.

My kingdom is a high-rise on the worst council estate in Shelford.

Not many kids were allowed to come for sleepovers. None, infact.

Yet, somehow we've been together one way or another since we thought pigtails, friendship bracelets, and pinky promises were cool.

* * *

"You wanna do some shots?" I ask the table, still too cold to be sat bare-legged in the dark

"Someone go get Paul, he's got some sambuca he nicked from work." Rose pokes Sam's arm. He'd jump off Beachy Head if she asked nicely, so he disappears, returning with a quarter empty bottle and Ben, who takes my seat and pulls me back into his lap. Shot glasses are not something Angie's parents know exist so we all take turns draining the bottle.

The last thing I remember clearly is Ben's aniseed lips sucking bruises into my neck.

Then the night goes from bad to worse.

At least, that's how it seems, watching as I am from underwater. The music all blurs into a thud I can feel in my chest and the soles of my feet. I've no idea what anyone is saying, nor do I care. I'm buffeted about from one room to the other, my legs managing to work when my common sense has already passed out. I think I might have been sick, but it could be the girl from my English class, Sarah or something. Sara? Zara? She's got her arm wrapped around me as the whole room seems to have turned into a giant bouncy castle. Next, I'm sitting and sliding off the edge of the bath, laughing at something I can't remember. I think someone is snorting X, but more likely paracetamol and sawdust off the toilet seat. Then it's the garden again, I'm soaked through. My dress is see-through, paper thin, but I don't cover up. Now I'm staring at tiny glow-in-the dark stars someone's either stuck to the ceiling or the back of my eyelids. I blink, they glow.

I feel the weight of someone pressing me into the bed. The reek of smoke and sugary booze. I want to be sick. I try to move, but they're a thousand tonnes of cement. I try to speak. Or maybe I just think I do. Hands push and legs tense. I think panic crawls up my throat but it could be vomit. The stars go dark. Rough lips press and a soggy tongue sticks in my mouth. I push harder. I push and push and then the body is gone.

There's violent words and a harsh voice I can't place. A sound that makes me flinch. A relief that hurls my guts.

I feel bad for ruining the carpet.

* * *

 _AN: Thanks for being here with me._

 _Kim and Choc are my sunny days._


	5. Chapter Four

**Three.**

I don't make first period.

Or second.

Chances of Mum calling in for me are zero, so once I manage to get home and changed, I roll up in time for first break. The common room is a sorry sight. I'm not the only one who was late. Some people are here in body, the rest of them are missing somewhere in the chaos of last night.

I'd woken in a tangled mess with Rose's face stuck to my thigh, a memory of something else stuck too deep in my mind. Rose is no help for digging it out. She's made it on time, and shares her coffee with me, an open text-book on her lap she's half-heartedly making notes from.

"Have you seen Ben this morning?" she asks. I shake my head, brain rattling painfully, and pull my knees up, lying down on the bank of worn orange chairs.

"Why?"

"He's got a shiner."

"From who?"

"Some random guy at the party apparently."

"Someone from here?" I almost can't imagine his pretty-boy blues being fucked up. I can imagine he deserved it.

"Not sure, you can ask him yourself." She nudges me, and I peel open my eyes to see him walk in and throw his backpack on a table. His face is a busted up rainbow.

He looks over, but before I can open my mouth, he looks at me as if I'm a piece of shit and turns away.

I let it go for now, too hungover and tired to worry what I've done.

Jessie appears on my other side, and winces when she look at me. "You look terrible."

"Thank you. I love you, too."

"Seriously, are you sure you're even alive." She pokes at my cheek, "You're paler than the walls."

I try to smile but it hurts. "Probably not."

She fusses around, pulling stuff out of her bag, getting a drink, talking ten to the dozen. I groan and ask her to sit still.

She ignores me. "Why was Ben outside Gartside's office?"

"He was?" It's a pretty rare event that anyone does something enough to warrant the Head getting involved. He is the king of delegation.

"Yep, with this other boy I've not seen before."

Sparks of last night flicker just out of the corner of my eye. "No idea. Does anyone know who the other guy was?"

"I don't know, but you can see for yourself, he's walking outside now."

I sit up—lightening pain makes me close my eyes. But when I manage to squint into the bright light, I see him.

Collar up against the wind, shoulders hunched, head dropped, fists clenched white as they hold the bag slung over his shoulder. The bell rings, and the kids from the high school pile out into his path. He keeps going and they split and swarm past him, keeping a wide berth. I hear Ben calling him a freak. And other things I don't think fit. He disappears into the History building, somewhere I should have been a minute ago. I was going to skip, but I'm curious, because there's something I should remember, something about him. Something.

I pull my better self together and make my way to class.

* * *

 _AN: So much love for those of you flailing on FB and for sending others this way. You're all ace._

 _Kim & Choc have the patience of saints. I heart them._


	6. Chapter Five

**Five.**

He's not in History or English, at lunch or in Form. I'm disappointed he's not anywhere. But if everyone carries on talking about him as much as they are, I'm sure he'll appear from thin air through sheer willpower.

The story goes like this:

Ben was wasted.

I was wasted.

We were doing things that wasted people do.

New boy appeared.

He picked a fight with Ben.

Ben lost. (Not that he'd admit it.)

Apparently this happened in the bedroom or the bathroom, in the rain, maybe behind the garage.

It's sixth, seventh, eighth-hand by the time I hear it, something born out of Chinese whispers and fabrication. This school is like a murky swamp with rumours spilling into it daily.

They all believe Ben's story.

I can't remember, but even so, I know he's lying. It's the way he won't look at me, eyes darting all over. He has this habit of getting louder the bigger the lie. I hear him holding court three rooms over.

I also hear a handful of things about the newbie. He's a transfer. He was expelled from his last school. His parents couldn't pay posh school fees anymore.

Truth is, no one has a clue.

I think about him more than I should. I can't put my finger on why.

The final bell can't come quick enough. I'm on my way to catch the bus for a date with my bed, when Cope calls my name as I walk past her room.

I consider pretending I didn't hear, but she's not someone to mess with. Unkind years have been corrected with a severe bun that stretches her eyes like a cat, and a slash of plum lipstick. A shade that fades through the day until she looks frostbitten.

I don't mean to sigh, but she spots it and the temperature falls below freezing. "I do apologise, Bella, for interrupting your busy day."

It's a trap so I keep my mouth shut.

"Is there anything you have for me?" She holds out her hand. I look at it for a few seconds too long. She's got chipped pink nails.

"Erm, I—"

"Your assignment?"

I swear under my breath, but her ears pick it up easily.

"Unless there's a good reason that your work isn't ready to hand in, you can spend tomorrow's free periods working on it under supervision."

I bite down the urge to groan, thinking of the half-finished mess sitting on my bed at home. "I'll have it done tomorrow."

"Good." She turns her back on me and cleans the whiteboard. "You've only got this year left, Bella. Make it worthwhile. If you're going to give up, then you might as well drop out now and save yourself the effort."

Reverse psychology from the psychology teacher. How cliche.

I have to catch two buses home. I'm not from the same world as the others, which is why I hate that Cope has a point. I was somehow gifted with enough sparks to be noticed by a kind and determined primary school teacher. Her help and my desire to be something more than my postcode, got me into Elmwood High.

So, I don't know why I'm fucking things up. It feels like it's out of my hands when I get home and have to walk past burned-out flats and smashed glass, past the gang who run this place, watching me like hungry vultures in the blank space at the centre of our estate. Then there's the new Do Not Cross police tape blocking off my building—another druggie, another robbery, another death. I get home and there's nothing in the fridge. My mum's got the curtains drawn, fast asleep on the settee. Another man's shitty aftershave invades the walls. It wasn't always like this, but it's getting harder to remember before.

I close my door to block it out. There's no way I can stay here. Something's clawing out of my chest like panic on acid. I change and head to Rose's without writing a word on my assignment. I'll have to give in to Cope.

Nine o'clock on the dot the next day, I seek out her room.

Turns out I'm not the only one in her bad books.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven.**

The new guy doesn't look up when I walk in. Cope doesn't let my attention linger, directing me to sit over by the window. The opposite side of the room.

"I've got a lot of marking to do today, so we should all be busy enough to keep our heads down, shouldn't we?"

I say yes, but he stays quiet. I get the impression he nodded as she returns the gesture and sets about destroying someone's work with slashes of her red pen.

He's out of my eyeline, and I'm not one to be obvious, so I get my file out and stare at the scribbles I've already collected. When I put my mind to it, words usually come easily, but I can't concentrate. There's no sounds of pen scratching or pages turning from his side of the room. No sighs or sniffs or movement at all.

I steal a glance and get a shock that his attention is fully on me. I let my eyes skip over him, to the clock, the door, the floor. Back to the paper.

He doesn't look bored. In fact, the opposite. He's studying me. I can feel it as if he's reaching out and touching the hair fallen over my face, my shoulder, my neck. I shiver and shift in my seat. Cope looks up. I look away.

Someone raps at the door. Mr. Dunn, my history teacher, sticks his head in and mouths something to Cope. Her chair scrapes back and she follows him outside, their shadows visible through the partly closed door as they talk.

"You should be more careful," comes a voice from across the room.

"Excuse me?" I exaggerate the effort it takes to turn around to look at him, tapping my pen on the wooden desk.

"I said, you should be more careful." He's slouched in his chair, arms crossed with boredom, which contradicts the intent look on his face.

"Is that a threat?"

A phantom smile crosses his lips. He dips his head to hide it. "Not at all." He wipes it off his face as he uncrosses his arms and leans forward to write, turning away from me.

I don't mean to say anything else, but his attitude is pissing me off. Also, I'm the kind of person who likes secrets, and he's bursting with them. "You should mind your own business."

Dark eyes snap back to me. "You're making that difficult."

"Why?"

He fixes me with a look that should be disinterested, but the weight of something else draws the space between his brows together. He doesn't voice whatever it is and I don't ask.

A decision I regret.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight.**

I watch the shadows disappear into the watery light of another day. I don't think I can get out of bed. My head is full of cotton wool and barbed wire. My legs ache enough to make me believe they've given up. I watch the numbers glowing on my clock slowly climb. My alarm goes off. I turn it off. I watch the numbers climb.

I can't even blame the night before. I'd been in bed before eleven. Asleep minutes later.

There's a knock on my door. Mum's beaming face appears, as rare as a real diamond around these parts. I doubt it's genuine.

She brings in two steaming cups of tea and perches on the edge of my bed, handing one over to me. "You got school today?"

A stupid question seeing as it's Friday.

I lie anyway. "I've got free periods till lunch."

"Ah, okay." She hands over my cup and wraps her hands around hers, getting comfier. "How've you been?"

I struggle to sit up, my joints feel like they're crumbling. "I'm okay."

She must have _some_ motherly instinct because she tips her head to one side and narrows her muddy brown eyes. My eyes. "Are you sure? You look a little tired."

"I'll be fine," I say, sharper than I need to.

She reaches over and squeezes my foot. "You know I'm here if you need to talk."

I know that if she was, she wouldn't have to tell me that.

"Thanks, Mum," I say, hoping this will be enough to pacify her attempts at concern.

It does. "Will you be here all day … only Marcus is coming around later."

"Marcus?" Saying his name brings his smell of pine needles and damp soil to me as if he's already here. It's always the same, as if he's walked through a graveyard on his way over. Either that or crawled out of one. I hate his visits the most.

She smiles right through to her eyes. "We're going to give it another go. He came over and we talked through what went wrong. He wants to try again."

I drain my tea, burning my tongue, and get out of bed. Flight kickstarted by a nasty combination of anger _at_ her and fear _for_ her. "I'd better get ready."

"I thought you didn't have to go in yet?"

"Yeah, but I've got some studying to do. Might as well get it done sooner rather than later."

"You don't have to do that." She reaches out again, but I can see she's doing her best not to shove me out the door herself. Marcus is her kryptonite. He's anthrax under my tongue.

"It's okay," I say, and tell myself I won't worry about her, but it's already burrowing under my skin, grinding my teeth. He must want something. I have to work out what.

* * *

 _AN: Hearts-in-eyes to Kim for looking over this for me. Thanks to all of you for reading xx_

 _Some Brit speak translations for my last few chapters - sorry I missed them - my fav GranmaDee spotted them for me._

 _council estate : houses and accommodation owned by the local authorities (state) and rented out cheap._

 _Head: Principal_

 _talking ten to the dozen: talking really really fast!_

 _Form: like Homeroom (I think!)_

 _common room: a place where only the Sixth Form kids can hang out between lessons/ at break/lunch_

 _Hope that helps - PM me if I missed any others._


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine.**

Cullen is already there when I drag myself into Cope's room. Cope isn't, but I haven't got the energy to work or talk, or try not to talk, which is just as hard. We've spent three silent hours together since the first. Nothing gained other than a name, and nothing lost.

He's got his ear phones in, long fingers tapping a fast rhythm. I walk straight past and throw my bag on the desk, resting my head on it. Sleep is the easiest option.

But with Cullen in close proximity, and Mum's news tripping through my veins, I can't relax. My heart dives off the high board every time I think about Marcus coming back into our lives.

I hear his chair, his footsteps. He appears in front of me, taking a seat and turning to face me. I watch him but don't sit up. I hope he gets the message to leave me alone. He doesn't, leaning against the window ledge, arm balanced on the back of his chair. He's making himself comfortable. I glance at the door hoping to see Cope breeze in and tell him to move. No such luck.

I stare at him from my vantage point. He stares right back. His eyes are not as dark as I'd first thought, I think I see a galaxy in there. I know at least six girls who've already flagged him for their next target. I know at least ten boys who can't decide whether they want to slap him on the back or slug him in the teeth. I admit I want to take a peek inside to see his clockwork, but I'm ready to wait until he tells me the time. I already see the intricate golden cogs whirring as he looks at me. Fingers twisting in his penny coloured hair, pulling at the strings on his hoodie while he thinks. I'll let him make the first move.

"Rough night?" His voice is rusty as if he rarely uses it, which would explain the radio silence around him.

"Rough life," I say, and want to take it back. The two words spelling out thousands.

"Are you alright? You seem … upset."

I lift my head and sit up, creating space between me and his concern. "Why do you say that?"

"I can tell."

I sit back, creating more space. "How?"

He shrugs.

"I'm fine, so you can go back over there."

"What if I don't want to?"

"I'm just telling you, you should."

The side of his face curves and crinkles into a smile. "Is that a threat?"

"Maybe."

He laughs, and it reverberates in the pit of my stomach, echoes down my bones.

"Why are you here anyway?"

He gestures around the room. "Same reason as you, I guess. Can't be trusted to be with the general population."

"That's not why I'm here."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Why then?"

I look out of the window, the trees fighting to stand upright in the wind. The towers of home standing strong in the distance. "Sanctuary."

His face hardens, one hundred year old stone. "You're not safe outside?"

"No … yes, I mean … it's not that kind of sanctuary. It's more like a seatbelt."

He raises a brow, tips his head as if he didn't hear me right.

"You know, keeps you strapped in. Stops you smashing through the windscreen."

"Yeah, everything you're saying is making me think you're in trouble."

I laugh this time. "I'm not _in_ trouble."

"You are trouble?"

"That's what people round here will tell you."

"They're wrong."

"And how would you know?"

"I can tell."

I wrinkle my nose at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, Bella Swan. I see you."

I open my mouth and close it again, vulnerability muting me for a second too long.

The bell for first break rings, and once the rabble through the corridors has died down, he stands and heads back over to his desk, only to appear a minute later, bag slung over his shoulder. "You wanna get out of here?"

My body betrays me and I'm out of my seat before I can argue why it's a bad idea.

We don't get far, Cope appearing with her arms full of textbooks, juggling to close the door with her foot. "Where are you two going?"

"I … erm." I stumble over a valid excuse, but Cullen takes the books for her and explains.

"We're going to the library to do some research." She blinks at him and then smiles, her face softening like silly putty.

"Of course. Mrs. Markham will help you if you can't find what you need."

She opens the door for us both. I hesitate for a second, confusion gluing my feet until Cullen calls out to me.

"Coming?"

I follow him out of the door, through the corridor and out into the cold morning. We walk straight across the playing fields and out of the school gates, the opposite direction to the library.

No one stops us.

I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

I'm starting to like him.

* * *

 _AN: The love for this little story has been amazing so far. The love I have for YOU is huge. Thank you. xx_


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten.**

Cullen jumps up onto the brick wall running along the footpath that crosses over the train line, then holds out his hand to me.

"I'd rather not fall to my death today," I say, and he laughs and shoves his hand back into his hoodie.

"Suit yourself."

He walks and talks his way alongside a thirty foot drop. I feel like I'm at risk of falling over just from watching him. The 2:15 to Staveley rumbles under us, a grating hulk of metal and grime that's not much better on the inside.

"Where did you come from?" I ask as he reaches the tallest point of the bridge, his trainers level with my nose. The skies are heavy and grey and at risk of splitting into a storm.

"Everywhere." He crouches down and kicks his legs out from under him, sitting on the edge. "And nowhere."

"Right, well that's helpful." I cross my arms, irritation fizzing under my scalp. I try to stop myself from needing to know everything, wanting to unearth secrets and lies and the rare truths, but I can't help it. It's a disease. I want to play it cool with him, but digging is part of my nature. I'm not used to boys playing it cool with me.

He laughs and pats the orange stones beside him. "I'll tell you if you come up."

There's another train rumbling in the distance and the hum of the nearby motorway. We've walked a fair way from school and are treading on the edge of my home turf. We should turn around.

"How come you didn't start in September?" I bat back.

"I won't let you fall." He says that like it's a joke, and considering he's a stranger—and you should never talk to strangers, never mind balance over railway lines with them—I shouldn't listen. I climb up to sit beside him as if I've trusted him all my life.

I leave a little less than arm's-length between us, enough to allow me to grab onto him if I need to, not enough to give him any other ideas.

We pass time with our legs dangling over the railway. Not another soul around, other than those crammed like sardines passing under our feet every fifteen minutes. "They'll call home," I say.

"Who will?"

"Cope probably … the school."

Not that my Mum cares about my attendance, but someone might care about Cullen's.

He doesn't seem worried. "I'll handle it."

Overgrown weeds sprouting tiny star-white flowers edge the tracks, and huge purple headed bushes flank either side of the embankment. Pretty until you see the rubbish tangled in their roots, plastic bag skeletons twisted around their branches. I wouldn't dare look deeper to see what other unwanted things are hidden.

"So go on then, now I'm here. You were going to tell me why you've ended up at Elmwood."

He bangs his heel into the wall, mortar crumbling into the air, dusting the ground. "It's a long story."

"Give me the headline."

"Impatient?"

"Nosey."

He nods, a smile twisting off into something else as he focuses on the hazy outline of the town in the distance. "I've moved around a lot since I was little. There was a delay on our last move … it took longer than we thought, so I missed the start of the year."

"Oh … so you didn't get released from juvie, or chucked out of your last school for fighting or something as terrible then?"

His laugh catches in his nose as he shakes his head, hands disappearing in the pockets of his hoodie. He pulls out a lighter, flicks it on and off, but doesn't produce any cigarettes. "Nah. It's a lot more boring than that. I'm not interesting at all."

I disagree, watching the flame kiss his fingers before he shuts it down over and over. "They'll all be so disappointed."

He twists to look at me side-on, whatever he wants to say hovering on his tongue while his eyes dance over my face like a spark's escaped. "Are you?"

"What? … Disappointed?"

He dips his head once, then turns his attention back to the incoming train, the first drops of rain falling.

"Not yet."

He waits until the last carriage has disappeared under the bridge to speak, its clamour filling the space between us. It doesn't drown out the way he looked at me. That was deafening in itself. But then he blows it all to pieces. "Well, there's still time."

* * *

 _AN: I'm away for the next few days so won't be updating (I should have A Case of You chapter soon though). I'll see you at the weekend._

 _Some more definitions:_

 _trainers: sneakers_

 _motorway: freeway_

 _juvie: juvenile detention_

 _Anything else, just drop me a line x_

 _I owe the world to Kim & Choc for dropping everything for me to read this over xx ILY_


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven.**

* * *

These are the things I've learnt about Cullen:

He does whatever he wants, and doesn't care what anyone thinks.

He loves 7-UP with a passion that makes me worry for his insides, and he hates Ben.

He's 6ft and a bit, but seems even taller when I'm the only one stood beside him.

He loves The Smiths, but hates U2.

He wants to go to university, but doesn't do any work.

He carries a lighter, but doesn't smoke.

He drinks, but never gets drunk.

He's fascinated with fire, and sometimes, when he thinks I can't see, he looks at me in the same way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve.**

There are places you shouldn't go, and places you should.

Delly's is a youth club that welcomes you with a hug. A hug that smells of old curtains, Impulse, and sugary, hot bread. It's my home from home, a place where I can earn some cash, and a place I can hide out when I need to. Carmen, an ex-corporate hotshot, local girl done good, has ended up with too many surrogate kids to handle. She always keeps her door open. It doesn't stop everyone from ending up on the darker side of the street, but she gives up her heart hoping it makes the difference to their choice.

There are TVs and pool tables, jukeboxes and hot food. Its tuck shop, one I run to help out on slow days, is the draw of half the kids in here. That, and Delly's easygoing nature and eccentric personality.

I've half fallen asleep, head on arm, when familiar voices drift down the street into the open door.

Rose and Angie appear arm in arm, followed by Sam and Paul, with Ben and his mates straggling in at the rear. A pool tournament is to be tonight's entertainment. Angie and Rose hang back with me, chatting and stealing cola bottles and fizzy rings until my shift finishes.

"You gonna stay out for a bit?" Rose's tongue is green from apple sours.

I'm tired, but reluctant to go home yet. "Yeah, you wanna game?"

"Only if you let me win." She grins and bites a strawberry lace, pulling until it snaps.

"Ha, no chance."

I unhook a couple of cues from the wall. Working here has its advantages—unlimited sweets and use of the pool tables being one of them.

"Are you going to talk to Ben?" Angie asks as I lock up the shop and head down to the pool hall at the back of the building. I've lost count of how many nervous and giddy heart-fluttering kisses I've given away in its dark corners.

Ben, on the receiving end of lots of them, is still avoiding me, which is pissing me off. But not enough to call him out on it. "Nope. Not today."

Sam waves us over, a huge grin on his face, pointing at the 50 pence pieces lined up along the edge of the table. "Let's see what you've got, B."

I rack up the balls and chalk my cue, a habit that drives him mad with its repetition. "Any sign of Cullen?" I ask, taking extra care to get it lined up perfectly so I don't have to look at the way he's smirking at me. Sam is the only one who knows how much I've been hanging out with the new kid on the block. He loves shiny new things too much to care what his friends think.

"He said he might come around later, but that was before _they_ decided to come along." He tips his head to the opposite side of the room where Ben is easily working his way to the top of the leaderboard.

It won't stop Cullen.

He arrives ten minutes later and makes a beeline for my table. He jumps up onto the benches that run around the room, sitting beside Sam. They're hidden in the darkness where the lights above the tables don't reach, but I catch him smiling every time I mess up a shot, which is a lot more than before he arrived.

Sam beats me for a pack of Astro Belts.

He offers Cullen a match, but he suggests Rose play. She's terrible, but the tips of Sam's ears flush red when she agrees.

I hand over my cue, and hop up on the bench alongside Cullen, forgetting for a moment that they don't know about me and him and whatever we are. It's an action which draws the attention of everyone here as if I've painted a bright red line down the middle of the room and stepped right over it.

I don't care. I'm drawn to his shadows. They feel like home.

We don't talk much. Just watch. I'm aware that Ben is beating everyone, his voice booming across the ceiling and down the walls. He's always been the best.

Cullen hasn't picked up a cue, either. I'm wondering whether he can play, when he jumps up and stalks over to the competition table, slamming his coin on the edge, a smile creasing his face. "Best of three?"

Ben laughs, but the knuckles wrapped around his cue are bone-white. My heart lurches out of the gate like a greyhound when Cullen's smile widens. He looks right at me and says, "Winner takes all?"

* * *

 _AN: Thank you xx_


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen.**

The silence is thicker than an oil slick. Cullen makes the first move, racking up the balls with an ease that sends whispers scattering around the group.

"I'll break," he says, not giving Ben an inch. I hang back, leaning against an abandoned table, torn between being pissed off and flattered. It might be some girl's dream to be caught in the middle of these two boys, but it's not mine.

I want to see the outcome. A small part of me wants to see what Cullen's point is. To threaten. To impress. To knock Ben down a bit.

It only takes a few minutes for everyone to realise Ben has met his match. Ben loses the arrogant swagger I thought was cool. Everyone holds their breath. Me included. Every time Cullen pockets a ball, a smile twitches my lips. Ben's scowl grows.

Rose comes over and rests her chin on my shoulder, whispering, "He's good."

I nod, not taking my eyes off him as he clears the table in one go. Sam whoops and claps Cullen on the back. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, eyes searching for me. When he spots me, he winks.

I roll my eyes, thankful for the gloom in here. My cheeks burn.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Rose digs me with her elbow.

"Nothing at all."

She pinches the skin on my arm, and says, "Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell, I swear."

"Yet."

How one little word can cover so much potential.

Ben steps up his game and wins the next one.

"Is that all you've got?" he goads.

All I hear is Cullen's laugh, but he mutters something under his breath that lights the touchpaper of Ben's anger. It burns—blinding, bright. Ben's in his face in two steps, Rose grabs my arm as I take an impulsive step toward them. "Leave them."

Cullen stands his ground and Ben lets his friends pull him back.

"Not going to finish what you started?"

He shrugs his friends off. "Only so I can put you in your place."

"Good," says Cullen, throwing a handful of napalm on the flames. "Glad to see you picking on someone your own size."

"What the fuck?" Ben's face is purple, his usually neat blond hair ruffled.

"You want me to explain?"

"I want you to shut your fucking mouth."

"Do it then." The light's burned up in Cullen, he's a forest fire out of control.

Ben swings first, but Cullen ducks and lands a punch. They throw themselves at each other, cues clatter to the floor. No one knows what to do. Limbs are flying, no one can get close. They smash into a table and fall to the floor. I'm in shock that Ben is behaving like this. He's more mouth than action, but Cullen is a whirlwind, blood dripping from his lip, fists that don't miss. Ben is trying to match his intensity. He doesn't have a chance.

I race to the other side of the room and slam my hand on the fire alarm. It's the only thing I can think of. The shrill siren slaps sense back into everyone. They scramble, leaving Ben holding his jaw, Cullen flexing his fingers, both breathing heavily like a couple of snarling tigers.

One of them says my name, but I don't listen, getting out of there before Carmen finds us. I can't handle the heat.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading and thanks for TLS for featuring this little ditty. Kim and Choc polished this for me. x_


	14. Chapter 14

_AN: A few definitions:_

 _tuck shop (from the last chp) = a small shops that sells sweets/drinks/food for cheap usually near or within a school/club._

 _pavement = sidewalk_

* * *

 **Fourteen.**

The bus stop is over the road from Delly's, but I don't want to hang around so I start the walk home. The sky is violet, streetlights flickering to life along the pavement. I stick to the main roads, following the stream of cars heading out of town.

It's only a half hour walk, but one I rarely do. One thing Mum drummed into me from an early age was that the streets around our home are anything but safe, especially for a young girl. Still, confusion and sparks of anger have kick-started something in me I need to burn off, so I walk. I need to deactivate whatever bomb Ben and Cullen are hiding before they implode. It has to be the fight at Angie's party. I get a twisting churn in my stomach when I consider all the explanations.

I've made it all the way down the A34 and can see the estate at the crest of the next hill. I quicken my pace between the pools of light, the darkness between growing as the sun disappears and the traffic thins.

I hear a man's low voice as I walk along Crescent Grove, the slam of a car door.

"It's alright, she's alone."

Another voice joins in, "Follow her."

It snaps my built-in tripwire. My heart explodes into my chest. I urge my legs to work faster, eyes darting to find the safety of a passerby or an escape route. All I see is places they might find my body in the morning. The sound of footsteps grow, their rhythm stepping up a notch. One of them smashes something on the ground, a glass bottle maybe. The hair stands up on the back of my neck, I kick myself for being so stupid. For letting what happened back at Delly's make me lose my mind.

I know there's a storm drain coming up on my right. If I can disappear into it. If it's not blocked. If they're not fast. If they are. I wait until I'm alongside the open mouth of the gully before I dart right and into a sprint, splashing through the old rain water.

They yell after me. They chase.

My legs won't work fast enough and my breathing is working too hard, the roar of my pulse and overworked lungs drowns out everything else. I run and zigzag through the drain and then scramble up its side, brambles ripping at my hands and legs. I haven't got time to be careful. I make it to the top and see a bunch of houses squashed together, red brick alleys running behind them. I risk a glance over my shoulder and see the two men appearing over the edge. They're older and grimy, booze rushing through their veins. They stumble, but are taller, bigger, and they race on.

I realise too late that the houses are derelict. My lungs are on fire, my legs burning up as I disappear into the warren, I can't do anything other than hope they give up. I turn a sharp left and left again, doubling back on myself. I don't want to be stuck here. I press myself up against a wall, using the shadows as camouflage, shuffling along, pressing against doors and gates to try and find somewhere to hide, but they're all boarded up.

"Did you find her?" the gruff one asks.

"She's here." The other's voice is a knife blade to my neck, sending a warning shiver crawling across my skin.

I inch my way along, fingers scraping to find something, somewhere. I'm almost back where I started when I sense someone behind me. A hand slaps over my mouth before I can scream, pulling me back against them and shoving me down to the ground. "Be quiet," the voice orders, hot and familiar against my ear. "It's me."

I want to pass out in relief, but I can still hear the other men, talking and kicking doors, piles of debris, hoping to find me cowered beneath. I nod and grab onto Cullen's arm. He points to a smashed basement window a few feet ahead. "Can you make it?"

I listen to the voices drawing away from us. They'll be back soon. I nod again and crawl over, ignoring the glass cutting my hands and knees as panic takes control of everything. I flatten myself and push open the grate, I slide under it, dropping down into a musty, damp darkness. Cullen drops down beside me. "You okay?"

I'm about to answer when I hear them, right outside. Cullen reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me into the dark. He doesn't stumble or falter in the blackness, but instead leads me to a small space behind what feels like an old cabinet. We wait, pressed together side by side on the cold ground. The only sound is our heartbeats. Mine roaring through my ears, his pounding through our hands. We stay that way for hours.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen.**

He walks me home but doesn't say much.

I don't, either.

I wouldn't know where to start.

He tells me he followed me to make sure I was okay, that he saw the men crawling along in a car behind me, and the moment they got out. He tells me I should call the police. It's not the way things work around here.

I tell him I will, but I won't. I tell him I was fine, that I am fine, that I can walk the rest of the way once we hit the edge of the estate. I've never been ashamed of where I'm from, but around him I feel exposed, as if my wallpaper has been peeled back, showing my true substance.

And I've never been ashamed of my actions, my recklessness, but there's always a first, and tonight is it.

I tell him again I'll be okay.

He doesn't listen.

He walks me to my door.

Under the lights, I see his eye is swollen. A reminder of the reason I got myself into this mess.

"We need to talk about what that was earlier," I say.

He chews on his lip and tilts his head. "Now?"

The sound of laughter comes from the flat, Mum is in, and maybe with company. I'm cold and exhausted, and though spending more time with him is more appealing than facing whatever is behind the door, I concede it's not the best idea. "Tomorrow?"

He shrugs. "Sure. I'll see you at school?"

"Yeah. I'll be there." I scratch a bit of peeling blue paint off the door, reluctant to let him go. "You won't say anything to anyone about what happened?"

"Who is there to tell other than you?"

He's sure and fierce with his honesty. I've the urge to go to him, to be back pressed against him, safe beside the weight and warmth of his presence. I rock on my heels but don't move. The rules seem different now that the danger is gone.

"Okay, well … I would invite you in but my mum—"

"No worries. I'd better go anyway. You sure you're okay, though?"

"Yeah," I lie.

He spends a moment too long looking at me before he's satisfied I'm not about to crumble. Then he turns and walks away, throwing one last look over his shoulder to check I've gone inside.

I haven't. "Thank you," I say, halting him in his steps.

He turns around, but keeps walking backwards, the habitual lighter flickering on and off in his hand. "Just remember what I said when we first met."

I frown, trying to remember. Everything before this night seems so long ago and blurry.

"Be careful," he reminds me, before disappearing around the corner. I rest my head on the door, the noise of the TV drifting around its edges, and smile.

* * *

 _AN: Kim made this pretty, but I've been messing so all mistakes are mine._


	16. Chapter 16

_A little definition - greasy spoon - a small cafe that sells fried foods (usually English breakfasts)_

* * *

 **Sixteen.**

There are five boxes in the hallway that weren't there when I went to sleep. Mum's dancing around the kitchen to Rod Stewart while she makes breakfast. A cloud of salty bacon and burnt toast floats around the flat with nowhere to escape to. I don't want to turn up at school smelling like a greasy spoon, so I turn down her offer of breakfast. She looks disappointed.

"Where did the boxes come from?" I deflect, tying my hair up before it absorbs the stink.

She tries to look confused by my question, but they're sitting right there, making our already tiny home even more cramped. "Oh those …" She waves a tea towel at them and turns back to the hob. "Just some of Marcus' stuff."

"Why are they here?" I'm ready to flip the plates of congealing breakfast off the table if she says he's moving in, irritation bubbling like hot oil under my skin.

"He needed somewhere to store them. That's all," she says, before returning to her duet.

"Oh right, because we've got loads of free space here."

She spins on me, wielding the bread knife to exaggerate her point. "Don't be difficult, Bella. He needed a favour so I'm helping him out."

I consider telling her what happened last night but I won't get the comfort I need, only a lecture. So instead I ask, "Is he going to be moving in?"

She takes three seconds too long to answer.

Enough time for me to grab my bag and slam the door behind me hard enough to make the walls shake. I won't spend a second under the same roof as that man. I scream frustration into the stairwells, scattering a couple of pigeons into the blue skies as I run for the bus.

The route to Elmwood is closed, smoke billowing from whatever incident has happened behind a police cordon. I have to get off and walk miles to the next stop. By the time I get to school, I've missed half of first period. I don't bother turning up late, and head to the common room instead.

But it's empty, so I head to Cope's form room. That's empty, too. I sit in my usual spot and stick my headphones in, closing my eyes. Visions of Marcus sitting at the dinner table, sharing my Mum's bed, coming into my space, seeing, touching my things, spin my thoughts around like the waltzers. I can't let it happen. Or I can't hang around if it does. It's too much to cope with this early on top of what happened last night, so I push it out of my mind, instead wondering about Cullen while I listen to Bobbie Gillespie get loaded.

He doesn't turn up to second period or break, lunch or any lessons after that. It bothers me more than it should. Questions that need answers are buzzing like wasps, ready to sting. Cullen's absence is a kick to their nest. I can't concentrate, so when I see Ben sneaking behind the science labs for a smoke I follow him.

He freezes, cigarette balanced in his lips unlit. Eyebrows raised like I'm an irritation. I'm going to be more than that.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

He steps back at my unexpected anger. "What are you on about?"

I look over my shoulder to check I've not been followed; the faculty aren't stupid, they know we hang around out here, the butts on the floor the only evidence they'd need to suspend us. "You know what I mean. You've not said a word to me since Angie's. You're acting like some big man, ignoring me and starting on Cullen for no reason."

He laughs and messes with the zip on his jacket instead of looking at me. "Ah, your new friend? He's a dickhead."

"The only dick around here is you."

"What do you want me to say?" He shrugs like he doesn't know why I want the truth. "Why don't you stop yelling at me and go and tell your knight in shining armour that we were together and had been for months before that night."

" _We weren't 'together_ ," I air quote his exaggeration, "And why would he need to know that?"

He turns into the wall, cupping his hand while he fumbles to light his cheap L&B. Sucking on it until his teeth show through his cheeks before he speaks on the exhale. "Because he's getting involved where he's not wanted." He sighs a cloud of smoke. "He's desperate to get in your knickers. Which won't be too hard, knowing you."

I don't know why I ever thought he was nice. I laugh at him. "Go fuck yourself, Ben."

"I'd rather fuck you." He smirks, and I lash out, slapping the cigarette from his mouth. He grabs onto my wrist and twists, burning my skin with his grip before he lets go. "Calm down. Jesus. He's welcome to you."

My body is vibrating with the need to get away from him, or to punch his lights out. Instead, my feet are stuck with my indecision. He grabs his bag and pushes past me, leaving me to sag against the bricks.

I'm still simmering with unanswered questions by the time I make my way home with a plan to grab my stuff and head to Rose's for a week at least, if not forever. But that goes out of the window when I get back to the estate and find Cullen perched on the wall outside my block, grey hoodie pulled up, hands stuffed in its pockets.

His smile is out of balance when he sees my face. It falls a thousand storeys when I tell him what's happened. "I'll kill him."

I stop him with a hand to his shoulder and push him back down on the wall. "No, you'll tell me what happened that night first."

He drops his chin to his chest and sighs, scrubbing his hand across the back of his head and pulling the hood down. He runs his fingers through his flattened hair. "You won't like it."

"Try me."

I should have listened to him.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading xx It's snowing here so I'm off to build a snowman.. (how many of you have that damn song in your head now?!) Have a fab weekend, loves. xx_


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen.**

We walk along the edge of the train tracks until we find the derelict railway yard that local kids have turned into a makeshift skatepark. There is a kaleidoscope of graffiti tags and half-hearted attempts at murals on the buildings, but none match the old, giant, tentacled sea monster dragging the crumbling towers of Shelton down into The Black Sea. Whoever did it could see into the future. I hope they got out before it sank.

There are a couple of people here already, the sound of wheels rattling over the uneven surfaces, the smack of boards against feet and walls as they race in and out of the shadows. Cullen kicks a faded can of Coke while we walk along the last gasp of light, the sun dipping out of sight. He's waiting for the interrogation. I almost don't want to spoil the moment by bringing it up.

"Where were you today?" I ask, watching the fading sunshine soften his sharp angles. His eyes are greener than I'd remembered.

"I had some stuff to do, so …" He boots the can into the tangled, worn bushes.

"So you didn't bother to come to school?"

"Nah. I'll catch up."

I open my door a little, not wide, but enough so he can catch a glimpse inside my thoughts. "I was worried when you didn't show."

"You were worried about me?" When he smiles, it's playful but uneven, like he doesn't want to fully commit but can't stop himself.

"Maybe a little."

"You shouldn't."

"Yeah, but I don't know anything about you."

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "I can count the things I know about you on one hand, with leftovers."

"Like?"

He spreads his fingers and counts. "Your name is Bella Swan, you've got brown hair and browner eyes, you attract trouble but don't realise it, and then there's space for more. You might as well let me know."

"Let you know what?" I'm grinning at him until he speaks.

"What Ben is to you."

I open and shut my mouth, the wrong answer waiting. I try again. "We were seeing each other, sort of."

"So he's not your boyfriend?"

"Not at all."

He nods and squints into the view over the skatepark, watching some kid too young to be hanging out here, fall on his ass under the sunset.

"What happened at the party? I … well, I kind of have a blackout about it."

He waits until the kid's back on his board and skating away from us. "He was crossing a line."

"What line?"

"The one around you." He looks over at me, searching for recognition or agreement or relief. The memory is flickering like a candle struggling for air.

"I think I remember you, or at least a voice that could have been you."

"It was me. I saw you were wasted. He didn't care." He shrugs like it's obvious what happened next, but it's still not enough for me.

"I can't remember it. Whether I was okay with what was happening or not." Snatches of a heavy weight pressing down on me, and panic crawling up my throat, float to the surface. I wasn't okay. Not at all.

He doesn't respond to this other than a twitch in his lip.

I answer my own question. "But I suppose if I was okay then you wouldn't have got involved." I flush at the thought of him seeing me in such a state.

"Is that the kind of relationship you want?"

"No, of course not," I reply, leaving out that those are the only kind of relationships I've ever known. My mum, for all her sins, has always ended up with the devil.

He nods, pleased with my certainty, and continues, "You told him to leave you alone."

"And … he didn't?"

One sharp shake of his head, eyes turned black again, as if the sun's eclipsed.

"So you stepped in?"

"I reminded him how to treat women."

I feel ashamed and furious, all rolled into one. Ashamed that I can't remember, furious at Ben, furious at not being with it enough to look after myself. Ashamed that Cullen had to look after me. A theme, it seems.

"Thanks for looking out for me."

"Anyone else would have done the same."

"But they didn't." I've learnt to depend on one person all my life, myself. And to have someone, a total stranger, step in like Cullen has, more than once, is sending my little world spinning off its axis.

He shrugs again, and I don't know what else to say. We walk a little further and sit on the grassy bank beneath the sea monster's wall, watching the lights flicker on in Shelton. Cullen turns his lighter around and around, nervousness or just habit, I'm unsure. He sparks it up against an old bit of newspaper. We watch it burn away, eating up the abandoned words, igniting the dry weeds around it, smoke carrying their remains through the air. The silence drags on for too many punctuated heartbeats. "So, now you know five things about me, you gonna let me in on your secrets?"

He turns back to me and dusts his hands off, then he reaches out and picks a tiny singed dandelion feather out of my hair, flicking it into the wind. His hand hovers, like he's going to touch my cheek, but it's indecisive and drops to his side, disappearing into his hoodie. His eyes are all over me, studying, searching for something, maybe everything, but I don't think he finds what he was looking for. He straightens up, creating a space that feels vaster than The Black Sea behind us and says, "Not today."

* * *

 _AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one. Happy Mother's Day to those celebrating._

 _Kim and Choc tidied this up for me. They're stars. x_


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen.**

I don't know what to do with the knowledge about Ben.

I know what I _should_ do.

But I shy away from opening myself up to judgement like that, so choose to stitch myself back up and either pretend he's invisible, or severely injure him should he choose to ever speak to me again.

It's not long before I have to make that decision.

There's a house party on my side of town. Paul's cousin from the local college has ended up with most of his year—and mine—trashing his uncle's place. Cullen is here. So is Sam, mooning over Rose, and Angie pretending she's not into Paul. Something I think she should probably give up before it turns sour. He's infamous for once working his way through the alphabet of girls. He's likely back to the start, so Angie should beware.

Cullen is leaning up against the wall, can of Carling in hand. He's relaxed and laughing at whatever Sam is saying. I watch him as much as I can without it seeming weird. He's moving from the outside, slowly settling as part of our group. A fact I'm happy about, until shades of green jealously blur the edges. I covet the times where no one knew him apart from me. I don't feel like I've had him long enough for others to steal him away. I see the other girls, swaying with booze, eyes fluttering, sliding over to him, lingering and trying to catch his attention. He doesn't seem to notice them, but his attention falls on me every so often, as if he's checking I'm still there.

The music's too loud to think, a few decibels from the police being called. Bodies are crammed into the small room, simmering sweat and intoxication. I've gravitated back toward Cullen, we hold up the wall together while I fill him in on who is who. I'm not sure he cares, but it's making him dip his head down close to my lips to hear me, so I keep talking. I'm not drunk, but I feel it near him, every sway of bodies to the music presses us closer, his aftershave making me crazy enough to want to bury my face in the warmth of his neck. I steady myself by holding his arm, then a hand against the thin cotton of his T-shirt. I feel like a piece of jetsam being bounced about on the waves, but Cullen is an unmovable cliff face.

Ben's appearance at the edge of the crowd sends a tidal wave crashing from the sudden change in Cullen's demeanour. He's an elastic band stretched, a flicker of tension in his jaw as he stands taller. I don't want him to snap. I catch Sam and Angie's attention and widen my eyes, flicking them to the doorway. They both look back and forth between the two opposite sides of the room, frozen in place, trying to guess which is going to blow first. I try my best to put out Cullen's fuse.

"Let's get out of here." I take his hand and tug him out of the sliding door, on to the patio which is slick with rain. I didn't expect Ben to come to this side of town, it's not his scene. I wasn't his scene. Just the girl he loved to play around with but never one to take home to his mum.

"We don't have to leave you know." He drops my hand and stops, the empty clouds still dripping on us.

"I don't want to get into anything," I say, and wrap my arms around myself, my jacket still inside. "That's all."

"You won't," he says, but I don't like the singularity of it.

"Please, let's just get out of here. I'm tired anyway."

He throws one last glance back to the direction of the party, and concedes, following me around the side of the house and out past the drunk and drunker, friends and strangers on the front lawn. A gang of lads have gathered around a red car, it's raspy engine purrs and pours acrid smoke, which obliterates the smell of fresh rain. Base from the backseat rumbles through the soles of my feet and the pit of my stomach.

I keep walking past, not even giving them a second thought, until the one who's leaning up against the driver side with night-black clothes and even darker hair, whistles long and low in my direction. I pretend I didn't hear, and his interest dances over me and lands on someone else. "Whoa." He laughs but it's not friendly. "Long time no see, E."

I've already got six or seven paces away when I hear Cullen respond. "Could've been longer, Jay. What you doing here?"

I stop and turn around as Cullen leans in to talk to the catcaller. They drop their voices below the music, and the group seems to shift and change, enclosing them both like the jaws of a monster. It's this that keeps me from returning to his side.

Hushed whispers with sharp edges escape into the cold night. I shiver, the raindrops on my skin sharpen like icicles in the wind. A minute or so passes, before their attention turns back to the girl hovering in the dark. The dark stranger tilts his head to me with a wolf's smile, muttering something. Cullen's laugh is acid as he gives a dismissive shake of his head. A gesture that makes my bones feel weighed down with cement. "She's just one in a long line." He shrugs, and they all laugh.

"She likes bad boys? Send her over my way when you've finished." They all laugh like hyenas, and I want to rip them apart.

But I've lost all my energy. I've put too much in him.

'Screw you," is all I can muster, but it falls flat and breaks on the pavement under more laughter.

I take a step back, dragging my leaden feet, finding it difficult to remember how to make my lungs work. I turn my back on them. Cullen shouts; his words slam into my back like stones. "Not today, sweetheart."

I dash across the lawn, walk through the front door of the house, push past Ben and his gang, and find Rose pressed up against the wall with a random sucking on her neck like a vampire. She pushes him away as soon as she sees my face.

"I need to go." I can't suck the air in fast enough.

"Okay, okay."

She tells me to wait by a tall pot plant that hasn't been watered in months. I stare at its browning and curled up leaves imagining my insides reacting the same until she returns with Sam and Angie. They ask me over and over what's happened, but I shake my head. Not because I don't want to talk about it, but because I don't know.

I should feel something—anger, disappointment—but all I get is the ache of a bruise where expectation used to be.

Turns out he's a carbon copy of the rest of them.

I should have seen straight through him.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading xx_

 _Kim and Choc drop everything to read over these chapters for me. I can never be thankful enough for them. They're gold stars. x_


	19. Chapter 19

_AN: Some definitions for you:_

 _skive: skip school_

 _chippy tea: THE best night of the week. Fish and chips dinner from the chip shop. (I'm sure you all know what that is but just in case - chips are fries.)_

* * *

 **Nineteen.**

I wake up with a sore head and rocks in my ribcage. It's only just 6 but the memory of last night has travelled in with the first rays of sunshine, and I can't go back to sleep.

Rose is snoring like a content cat beside me, her ash-blonde hair dyed within an inch of white is a tangled web over her face. She won't make it to school, half a bottle of Malibu has stolen her ability to move without groaning or to string two sentences together.

I'm on one too many warnings from Cope, so I have no excuses good enough to skive. Cullen revealing himself to be a Class A dickhead won't cut it.

I catch the earlier bus and get to Elmwood before anyone else.

Except Cullen.

He's leaning up against the school gates, bag at his feet. He straightens as soon as he sees me, but has the common sense not to get any closer. I breeze past him as if I'm filled with nothing but air.

He starts to say my name, but my response is sharp enough to cut off a syllable. "Don't."

He listens until first break when he's waiting for me outside Cope's. I stop beside him.

"I don't know what you are going to say, but nothing makes what happened last night okay." He looks tired, his skin pale, eyes shadowed, blinking with nerves, I almost want to ask if _he's_ okay.

"I know that but give me a chance."

"Not today, sweetheart." I smile but it's lemon and limes.

He leaves me alone at lunch, giving up the company of his new friends, my friends, for me. Sam tells me I should talk to him. Hear him out. Angie doesn't say anything but she glances over to his solitary figure more than once, eyes creasing with the effort of sticking with me and my guns.

He gravitates towards me as much as he can, but stays at the outer edge like Neptune. I pretend it's too far to notice. I do notice everyone is whispering about the change in our atmosphere. I hate that as much as not talking to Cullen.

The end of the day can't come soon enough. I'm off campus before the bell has finished ringing. I seek out Mum's company when I get home. Her chatter fills the space my mind wants to flood with anxiety. We curl up on the settee and watch Neighbours. It would be nice if everything else wasn't so messed up.

"Do you fancy a chippy tea?" she asks. "Or I've got a couple of microwave meals in the freezer. Chicken korma I think."

I cringe at the thought of the beige slop. "Chippy is good. You want me to go?"

"No, you stay here and get the plates out. I won't be long." She gets her purse and coat, sliding a couple of letters off the table into her pocket. "Fish, chips, mushy peas?"

"Yeah, usual. Don't forget ketchup, too."

"I won't," she says as she disappears out the door, and we could almost be a functioning family.

Only then I hear her talking to someone outside. The blood in my veins shudders to a stop, I'm already scrambling up to disappear into my room, but then the shape and texture of the other voice sends it speeding back up.

"Bella?" Mum appears back through the door. "There's a young man out here asking for you." She winks and pulls a face that's a totally inappropriate reaction to a 17 year old boy. "Shall I invite him in?"

I want to say no, but then she will want to know everything—a different everything to the one she thinks she knows now. I've got to give him credit for his bravery in talking to my mother in all her permed, lycra and overbearing glory.

"Yeah," I say. The relief it wasn't Marcus makes me glad that someone has taken the decision to finally talk to Cullen out of my hands.

* * *

 _AN: You guys are better than buttered bread. x This chapter is unbeta'd as I was so slow writing it. All cock ups are mine._


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty.**

He comes in, and Mum waves bye, slamming the door behind her. Hovering by the front door, with his hands shoved deep in his jeans, I consider letting him wait. But I'm running on the last of my reserves, so I gesture for him to come and sit at the table.

He's sheepish and doesn't look any better than he did at school, slumped and strained, as if he's holding up the sky with his shoulders.

He pulls out a chair at the table, leaving the space next to me on the settee. The peeling, floral wallpaper and paisley carpet (that's older than me), come into sharp relief, Cullen a magnifying class to everything that's wrong with it. I could do with more space between us. He takes up too much with his brooding silence, but all we have is the lounge that's the kitchen, that's the dining room—this is as spacious as it gets.

I turn the volume down on the TV, news headlines showing screaming rioters and buildings turned to fireballs dominate the screen. The whole world is going to shit.

"You've got about fifteen minutes before she comes back," I say.

He nods and sits forward, elbows balanced on the formica table, fingers raked through his hair. I don't offer him a drink because I'm worried it'll turn out all I can give him is water, sour milk, or gin.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Bella."

It's a start, but not enough.

I stay quiet. Let him see how he uses the rope Mum's afforded him.

"I didn't want them to think I was with you … that we were together or anything."

"We're not." He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, looking down at the table top. "Together or anything," I add.

He swallows, and I should really get him a drink. I don't move.

"I know, but you don't understand. I had to do it."

"Why?" I pull my knees closer, sinking deeper into the lumpy couch.

"Look, Jay isn't the kind of person you want knowing your name."

"And humiliating me in front of everyone was the way to go?"

His knee is vibrating the floorboard with nerves. I want to reach out and put my hand on it. "No, probably not, but I panicked … He shouldn't be around here."

"No? How come?"

He sighs, tipping his head up to the ceiling swirled with artex and stained yellow with smoke. "Because last time we crossed paths he was in juvie for dealing."

I slide one foot onto the floor, grounding myself for the shitstorm. "And you know that because he's a friend? You visited him?"

"Yeah and no."

I wrinkle my nose at his bullshit explanation.

"He's bad news. I don't want him to know about you."

"To know _what_ about me?" I yell, frustration shooting my words like arrows.

"That you're my friend," he deflects.

"Why would he care?"

"Because that's who he is. He takes what he wants, and doesn't give a shit who he takes it from."

"I'm going to pretend you're not talking about me like I'm some sort of fucking object."

"Shit. Fuck." He drops his head onto his hands. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what?"

"Bella, I like you … and I don't want him to fucking know that, okay? He'll use it against me. Use _you_."

His admission bounces around the silence, sped up by the way he's looking at me.

"Who is he?" I say, dodging any rebounds until I'm ready for them.

"He's someone from my past. Someone who thinks I owe him things."

"And do you?"

His silence tells me enough.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I shouldn't have said those things. I fucked up, but it was from a good place."

I hear my mum's key rattle in the door. Cullen's attention swings to it, then back to me, crumpled and worn. "Okay," I say. "For now."

His looks at his hands for a second, then jumps up, somehow full of the charm I've missed, and offers to take the food from my mum.

She's beaming. "Thank you. I've brought an extra portion of chips, thought you might like to stay for tea?" Mum bustles about getting plates and cutlery without mentioning she'd already asked me to do it.

Cullen flashes a silent question at me. I should ask him to go so I can have a second to sort through his explanation—and holes burning through it—but the thing is, I like him, too. Despite everything.

I want to know what's going on in his head, what's brought him here to my door, who he really is. I'm determined to find out, so I let him know it's okay to stay with a nod.

Being around people who dance with danger isn't daring or unusual for me, it's part of life. And I'm starting to wonder whether I've found a kindred spirit, someone who can survive in the flames without getting burnt. I just hope he didn't start the fire.

* * *

 _AN: You guys are making me smile. Thanks for reading and for all the reviews and recs, esp the flailing on FB. Girls you know who you are! Thank you. xx_


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty One.**

I sip my Dandelion and Burdock and watch Mum interrogate Cullen with kindness.

"So how do you two know each other?" she asks, letting her dinner go cold, too busy talking to eat. "From school?"

"Yeah, we're in the same classes," he says, which is a half truth.

"Detention," I say, dousing more vinegar on my chips, enough to sting my nose.

She ignores me. "I've not heard your name mentioned before." She gives me a look, like I've been holding out on her. "Have you just joined the Sixth Form?"

"Yeah, we moved during the summer. From Manchester."

Mum snaps her fingers. "I knew I could detect an accent." She's so pleased, her whole face glows, though it could be from the gin I know she's got in her mug. "My first ever boyfriend was from around that area. Salford, I think. You remind me of him."

I really hope not, as I'm pretty sure that 'first boyfriend' was my dad. Mum likes to twirl her memories on a thin ribbon between fairy tales and nightmares. My dad's somewhere nestled between, depending on her mood.

"Yeah? I've moved around so much, most people say I don't have much of an accent. My passport says I was born in Dublin, but I've no memories of being there."

Mum fans her reddening face. "Oh, well, what a shame. I've always wanted to go to Ireland."

He shrugs, the gesture sadder than before. "Yeah. Me too."

She's given up eating totally now, fingers tapping on the Silk Cut packet on the table. I hope she doesn't light up. She must hear my silent plea, as she slides them away from her.

"So, what do your parents do?" Her question changes his face. Nervous smiles to a pillar of salt. I slide my eyes over to her, widening them in the hope she gets the message to shut up.

"Um …" He coughs and clears his throat, ripping open a sachet of ketchup, his concentration on his plate when he answers. "I live with my aunt now."

I cringe a little while Mum says "Oh, okay", hoping she drops it, with an unkinder part of me hoping she asks what does _now_ mean? Piggybacking on Mum's questions seems wrong, but I'll take all the insights into him I can get.

She doesn't press him. "Where did you move to around here?"

"Over at Adswood," he says, but this time he dares me to say something with a levelled stare.

"Ah," says Mum again. "I know Adswood."

If Shelton is one of the seven levels of hell, then Adswood is the sum total of them all.

"We're trying to find somewhere else," he says, "but it's hard."

"Yes, yes. I understand that completely." Mum reaches over and squeezes his hand. I appreciate her for the first time in a long while. The exception, when so many people would be horrified. "And some parts of Adswood aren't too bad, a bit like round here." She waves around our cramped home. "Are you near the Annabelle?"

"No, opposite side, at Blossoms," he says, naming the estate with a name that doesn't match its pebbledash walls, rusted doors and paint-chipped balconies.

"That's a better place to be," she says, and I feel the relief sinking into her shoulders. Annabelle's is the local scumbag pub, brawls, drugs, murders. You name it, it's the devil's lair.

I'm sure if he stays here any longer, Mum's going to suggest he move in.

I start to clear away the plates, Cullen helps. We stand side by side and do the dishes. It's so messed up. Mum chats with us for a little longer, and then makes her way out to meet her friend Janie at the pub. "Behave kids!" she yells as she disappears out of the door in her leopard print fur.

Cullen leans up against the fridge and watches me tidy away the last few things.

I feel flustered under his gaze. "So, that was interesting."

"She's nice."

"When she want's to be."

The question about his parents is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it dissolve, scared that the answer will be something too difficult for him.

But this means the loose ends of his background are weaving together tighter, creating a wall between us, and I can't see him clearly enough to pretend it's okay.

"You should probably go now," I say, putting the last of the glasses away.

He's disappointed. "I thought … maybe we could go out? Dessys or somewhere else? "

I look at him. Every mysterious inch. He's a pickpocket, taking little bits of me away with him every time we talk, but I've not got the same skills, always walking away empty-handed. I need to stop trying. "I've got some stuff to do for Cope's class. It can't be late again."

"Alright then." His eyes dart all around, he doesn't know where to look. They land on his jacket, which he grabs, and then his bag. "Guess I'll see you at school."

"Yeah, see you around." I close the door behind him, but he sticks a hand out and stops it. "Bella, I want you to understand, I just don't know how to show you."

"You'll find a way," I say, and he shifts his head, the shadow of agreement.

His smile flickers and peters out as I close the door and take back a little control.

* * *

 _AN: My heart belongs to Kim, Choc and Dandelion and Burdock. x_


	22. Chapter 22

**Twenty Two.**

The next few days pass in a cycle of lessons and assignments. I'm trying to catch up, keep my head down, keep my eyes off him. There are looks exchanged, but they're a currency that don't buy anything more.

A few times, I think he's ready to talk, but something inside of him shuts down, and it's back to jokes shared across the cafeteria table, conversations about _him and her_ and _this and that_.

It's Saturday night and we're nowhere different.

I link arms with Rose and Angie, using their warmth to stop shivering. In silver glitter and short-short denim, I'm freezing, but an excitement races through my veins like vodka. Sam is turning eighteen, and there's no better place to celebrate that than _Circus Circus._ A nightclub with bouncers who turn a blind eye and the best music in town. I have my fake ID, but I doubt I'll need it.

I'm proved right when we're let straight into the ultraviolet heartbeat of the club, the place already filled with all our friends, cheap booze, and a cloud of smoke. Rose leads us straight to the dance floor, where we lose track of time in a haze of laughter and sweet, sticky shots, dancing until we ache. I know Cullen is here, that he's watching. It spurs me on, hips swinging, hair loose.

Sam grabs me and spins me around, he sticks his tongue out, a blue pill on the end. "Want one?"

I shake my head, I'm buzzed enough. "Where'd you get that?"

"Birthday present from Paul."

"Paul?" I search him out, but he's probably hiding out in one of the booths that circle the dance floor, his own tongue down some girl's throat. "Since when did he deal?"

"Lighten up, B." He pulls me into a bear hug, squeezing my ribcage and covering me with sweat. "It was a gift."

I pinch his side until he lets go. "Gross, Sam. Go play." I push him back into the crowd, he laughs and stumbles, but styles it into a move worthy of a round of applause. I'm laughing when I catch Cullen's eye.

He's standing with a group from school, but he's not listening to them. I tip my head in acknowledgement, and he flicks his fingers for me to come over. My stubborn side tells me to turn my back on him, my drunken side wins out. I weave my way through the crowd. His face flashes every colour of the rainbow, his T-shirt black, eyes following my path. As I get closer, they fall to my bare legs. I catch him and get a hidden smile.

I lean up against the wall next to him. Its cool temperature seeps into my heated skin. "What brings a boy like you to a place like this?"

"You," he says, like a defibrillator to my chest, shocking any snarky response into nonexistence.

I'm grateful for the flashing lights, my cheeks flame. I bite my lip and chance a glance at him. He's unaffected, like he just told me the sky is blue, the sea is deep. A fact that shouldn't surprise me. I find myself fighting a smile under his fierce attention. I have to look away; it's too much like staring at the sun, so I focus on Rose and Angie and a hundred others swaying to the beat.

I spot Paul, head bowed with some guy I don't recognise. A slide of hands. Another exchange. I frown.

"He always do that?" Cullen asks, seeing it too.

"Not that I know of. Maybe he just got some gear for tonight?"

He doesn't answer. Paul mixes back with our friends, heading to the bar to buy a round of drinks.

Cullen turns to me, his arm brushing mine. "You having a good time?"

I waver a little on my feet, drunk but not too drunk to know what's happening. I won't do that again. "Yeah, you?"

"Could be better."

"How?"

He dips his head down, reaching for the silver chain of my necklace, fingers tracing it down my collar bone. "I want to kiss you."

Maybe he's drunker than I thought. I lift my eyes to his. "I …"

"Please," he breathes, and it's enough to remove any space between us; his lips brush against mine.

I pull back, move my mouth to his ear. It feels like I'm tearing myself in two, stopping what I've been thinking about for weeks. "I want to. But first you gotta talk to me."

He rests his head against mine for a heartbeat. Enough for his smell and the feel of him so close to send me falling from the high road. I'm reaching to pull his face to mine, when he jerks away, his attention drawn back to the club.

"Shit." He grabs my hand, pulling me around the corner into the shadows. Then he kisses me. Hard and fast, too quickly to take it in. I'm scrambling after the rush, when he pulls back, trying to remember to breathe. "Meet me tomorrow night, round 7 at the skatepark, I'll answer anything."

"What the hell's happening?" I say, but he's disappeared into the crowd as if there's an alarm going off no one else can hear.

I see the source as the crowd splits and swallows some new arrivals. The boys from outside the house party. Maybe they've come to collect their debt. I don't think Cullen is ready to pay.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading xx_

 _Love to Kim, Choc anf Gemmah for reading this over and over and over for me._


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty Three.**

I'm bleary-eyed and barefoot as I walk home to our flat. It's too early for anyone else to wake on a Sunday, but I'm desperate for my bed. My feet ache and my head bangs.

Cullen disappeared, and the night went downhill, tipped over from happy-drunk to wasted. Angie drank one too many Taboo and lemonades, puking over the dance floor. Sam knocked over a whole table of drinks. Someone started a fight for no reason. We got asked to leave soon after. A relief because _Red Car_ had his eye on me. He didn't come over, but I saw the recognition. It sobered me enough to be the volunteer to take Ange home.

Her mum dropped me off on the way to her early shift at St Thomas'. Talking the whole way about Angie's plans to follow in the family's nursing footsteps. I didn't tell her Angie had other ideas.

A row of ten garages line the perimeter of the blocks, doors that were once bright sunshine-yellow are now grimy and moss covered. Not many house cars, most are overflows for storage, old bikes, toys and furniture piled up with endless boxes. Mum lets ours out for a bit of extra cash.

I'm dreaming about sleeping all day until I have to meet Cullen, when I hear one of the garage doors creak open alongside me. The door that belongs to us, its mouth gaping wide with a man bent over inside.

I've already made the mistake of taking a few steps towards it, two steps too far when I recognise the oily, slicked back hair and faded, blood-red leather jacket. Marcus slithers out of the darkness, pinhole eyes dragging over my bare feet, legs, face. "Hello, Bella." He grins ashtray-stained teeth. "Haven't you grown?"

I fold my arms over my suddenly too small top. "What are you doing in there?"

He pats a hand on some boxes, stroking the top of one like it's a pet. "Just helping your mum do some rearranging."

"Mum doesn't use it. It's rented to Mr. Raleigh."

"Oh, not any more. We've ended the arrangement," he says with a finality that slots an image of the previous owner, dead in a ditch, into my mind. "Your mum needed more room, so it made perfect sense."

None of this makes sense. I find myself backing away, out of reach of the snake pit. "Whatever." I spin on my heel, gravel sticking into my soles, and walk as fast as I can to the cover of the stairwells, the sensation of spiders crawling all over me as he watches my escape.

I don't try to be quiet, hammering on the front door. Mum's mascara is crumbled under her eyes, lipstick on her teeth. She still manages to glare and comment on me staying out all night. "What is Marcus doing?"

"Oh, he's helping me clear out some stuff." I see behind her, into her room where clothes are strewn everywhere, boxes open. "Anything you want to put out there? It'll be so much better when we've got more space." She lights a cigarette and rubs at her forehead with a long, purple nail, smoke curling into her hair.

"Is he moving in?"

"No, not at the moment, but he might be staying over every now and again. Is that okay?" She shakes out a short silk kimono in peacock colours. "Would you like this?" She holds it up to me and tips her head to one side. "It suits you."

I snatch it off her. "No, Mum. And no, I'm not okay with it. I don't want him here."

She sighs and reaches for my cheek with her cigarette-less hand, stroking her thumb across it. "Bella, love. don't worry. It'll be fine. You'll barely notice he's here. I promise."

"I don't want him here."

"You don't get to decide," she snaps, and ends the conversation by disappearing into her room.

I stand in the hall for a moment, an argument brewing, teeth clenched, but it deflates—I'm too tired to contemplate a screaming row. I head to my room and push my chair up against the door handle just in case.

I'm dreaming about Cullen, all his secrets unravelling like string as I hold the other end, before my bed's even warm.

* * *

 _AN: It would be cruel to leave it there wouldn't it? Next chapter coming up very soon..._


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty Four.**

I find him sitting by the sea monster mural. Someone has lit a fire in an oil drum, further down the slope. He flickers in its glow.

"Hey." I climb up and sit beside him, pulling my knees up and resting my head on them to look at him. The strain of this push and pull between us, rubs out my anger with him, leaving behind exhaustion. "Where'd you go last night?"

"I'm sorry."

I look up to the sky in an attempt not to roll my eyes. He spots it.

"Shit, I know I keep saying that, but it's true. I had to get out of there before I did something stupid."

"Like?"

He passes on that one and asks, "Is Angie okay?" instead.

"How'd you know about Angie?"

He shrugs and tears at the clump of grass by his trainers. "I waited to make sure you got back okay."

"Why didn't you come over? Talk to me?" I sit up straight, swatting at a few midges that have started to circle over us.

"It's better that I stay away."

"How'd you work that out?"

He sits forward and clasps his hands against his forehead. I see his knuckles, split red and raw. I want to ask about them, but I don't want to give him a reason to avoid answering the first question. He drops his arms and starts to talk to the view, town flickering to life, red sky at night. I want to know what is so bad he has to cut himself off.

"I have some stuff … to do with where I grew up, where I came from."

"And you think I couldn't handle it?"

"I don't think you should have to."

"But that's _my_ choice."

He looks at me, hard enough to turn me inside out and upside down. I withstand it, reflecting it right back at him. A challenge. He turns away first.

"I've grown up in the system." He lets it float between us for a moment. "Got bounced around for years between foster parents and homes. Some good, some not so good. I met Jay at one of the group homes. He wasn't always bad news. Not like now. He had his moments though, but for a while we got on okay." His lighter appears, on off, on off. "We got into shit, ended up in trouble, but nothing major. It all changed when the old McAvey warehouse burned down. They used to make sweets there. The hard-boiled ones that break your teeth."

He smiles and then looks back to his hands, shaking it away like it doesn't belong. "Anyway, I had a reputation, the police were straight onto me the second they saw the smoke. We used to hang out there sometimes. You know, a place we could do whatever we wanted. Thing was, a couple of homeless people and some druggies lived in the basement for as long as they could before the police moved them on. The police hadn't bothered for a while, so … a couple of people died. People we kinda knew."

I try my hardest not to, but the image burns into my brain like a searing hot brand. "You got out okay?"

"We weren't there, and I didn't have anything to do with it. But we still got busted. They still wanted to blame me. Showing me the pictures of the victims." He shrugs, but the pain is a shudder across his features. "They couldn't pin much on me, but Jay was carrying an ounce of weed and with priors, he got nine months. Long enough to lose him."

I wonder what this means, but I can't stick needles in him to draw more information. I already have more than enough blood.

"Then Jay ended up in juvie again, for the same kind of stuff. I ended up here." He shifts almost imperceptibly, but his hand brushes up against mine in the grass. "Keeping you out of trouble."

"I'm used to all this." I wave at the tower blocks in the distance, the graffiti, the shadows. "You don't need to worry about me."

He looks like he doesn't believe a word.

"What happened between you and Jay, that you owe him?"

"He thinks he took the fall for me. He didn't, but that doesn't change what he believes. They got him for the drugs. He knew about me and fire. He didn't believe it wasn't me and always hated I wanted to be something else other than what we were born into."

When he says things like that I see my own mirror image.

"I guess in some ways I do owe him. But the things he's willing to ask for, their cost is too high."

"What does he want?"

"Doesn't matter because it won't happen."

I try to piece his disjointed history together to make a clearer picture, but like a magic eye, I can't see what's really underneath if I'm not looking at it in the right way. "You were in juvie, too?"

"For a while."

"But you said…"

"I lied."

"Why?"

"I lie to myself, too, sometimes," is all he says.

He passes the flame of the lighter back and forth across his skin. Hovering for what seems too long before he does it again. I'm about to reach out and take it off him, when it goes back in his pocket.

He reaches over and wraps his arm around my thigh, tugging me closer.

"What happened there?" I touch the pink edges of his damaged knuckles, he flinches but leaves his hand on my leg.

"A conversation."

I raise my eyebrows at him but he's decided sharing is over for now.

I think of a hundred other things I want to ask. But his eyes are like fingerprints against my skin and kisses on my lips. I shake my head. "You should have just told me the truth, it doesn't change anything." He's so close I feel the warmth of my own words bouncing off his skin.

He lifts a finger to my chin, tilts it up so my mouth is a whisper from his. "Can I kiss you?" he asks me again. He didn't have to, I'm already falling.

This time, he's slow and soft. My pulse rushes, a waterfall through my ears. He tastes like sugary pop and Wrigley's, smells like smoky fires and soap. He takes his time, hand wrapping around the back of my neck to pull me closer. I twist and climb onto his lap, his lips finding my neck with a groan, breath humid against my skin. My hands slide into his jacket, his warmth, as he cups my face, his kisses going deeper and deeper until I'm dizzy from not breathing.

We stay under the sea monster, until the stars appear, fighting a losing battle to be brighter than the world below. Nothing is brighter than us.

* * *

AN: Thank you, thank you. You're all awesome.

Love to my girls, Kim, Choc and Gemma for helping me get through this chapter.


	25. Chapter 25

**Twenty Five.**

"Something's changed." Rose squints at me sitting on one of the windowsills in the common room.

I fight the smile trying to push onto my face. "Nothing's changed."

"You're a big liar." She points at me. "I can see it all over you."

"See what?"

"Cullen."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep. All over."

"You need your eyes tested."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Her eyes follow mine. "I knew it." She stands as the bell for next class rings, gathering her books. "And if you aren't being obvious enough, I see the hickies." She tugs at the edge of my scarf, uncovering purple and pink kisses made with lips and teeth. The reminder makes my knees weak.

I slap her hand away, covering them back up, and grab my bag to see Cullen; which, unfortunately, coincides with a date with Cope.

He's smirking when I get to him, laughing at whatever Rose has said as she's passed. "I guess it's out then."

"I didn't know it was a secret." I try to play it cool, but all I can think about is kissing him.

He slides his fingers under the bag on my shoulder, tugging me closer to him. "It wasn't." He dips down, and I get my wish.

Someone clears their throat behind us. We break apart and have to move aside for Paul. He has a fox's grin, brimming with enough truth to detonate the rumours. He'll enjoy telling Ben. "You two should get a room."

Cullen leans against the doorframe. He's laid-back, but dominant, and has more confidence than most of the boys here could dream of possessing. He's everything Paul is _not_. "Thanks for the advice, mate. Now, can I give you some?"

I tense up, my demeanour the direct opposite to Cullen's, and try to tell myself to relax. Paul is cocky enough to mouth off, but he wouldn't start something without his backup.

"Depends what it is." Paul says it like he couldn't give a shit about anything anyone would say.

"Whatever they promised you. It's not worth it."

"What the fuck are you on about?" He shakes his head and laughs, but struggles to rein in the other signs of nerves, eyes darting anywhere but Cullen, shoulders pulled up by strings held by an invisible puppeteer.

"Work it out, and then stay away from them." Cullen isn't harsh or threatening, I hear the warning well enough, but Paul's face is red, eyeballs trying to escape.

Cullen diffuses him by slinging his arm around my shoulders, a hint to leave that I take gladly. I can't get out of there quick enough. We walk to Cope's, the few people still roaming the corridors clock us together. We'll be front-page news by lunch.

"What was that about? The dealing?" I keep my voice low, the spotlight on us is getting too bright. I can already see the smoke.

"Yeah. I wanted to give him a chance. He doesn't know what he's getting into."

"Maybe it was a one off, like Sam said."

We're steps from Cope's room, Cullen's lips make a beeline for mine. One kiss. "Maybe." Another, this time longer till my lips tingle. "Maybe not."

It makes me think of pulled petals twirling as they drop to the ground in a childhood game of wishing and chance. I hope Paul has enough petals to get back to _maybe not_.

Cullen walks me backward, presses me into a wall display about the solar system. His lips don't leave my skin, hands roaming to the warm skin above my belt.

"We've got class," I say, but it's lost in the intensity of his kiss. I try to wriggle away, but he just laughs, dragging his mouth along my jaw, biting my ear.

"This is more fun." His voice is so close it makes me shiver with pleasure.

We both jump apart when another voice, shrill enough to smash glass, shatters our oblivion. "More fun? I doubt you'll think that when you see the assignment I'm going to set for you both."

Cope is standing in her doorway, arms folded, hair as severe as her glare. "Get in here, _now_." The last word is a bomb.

I scramble past her to my desk, but she holds Cullen at the door. Words are exchanged. He doesn't look at me when he takes his seat, closely followed by Cope who has the look of a devil come to make our life hell.


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty Six.**

I write out the headings. Conformity. Obedience. A comparative study of either or both. A gift from Cope.

I underline them. Once. Twice. I look at them. I look out of the window. It's raining. Students race across the campus, ducking under cover or splashing through the growing puddles. I can hear Cullen's pen scratching across the page. I give him a look of disgust. He smirks and points to the page, mimicking writing, then points at the clock. I stick my tongue out at him.

Lockers slam out in the hall. One after the other. Bang. Bang. Rattle bang.

I can't concentrate.

Cope tuts and slams down her red pen, scraping her chair back to go and rip apart whoever is making the noise. Her kitten heels click-clack over the linoleum. I close my eyes and rest my head on the desk. A late night at Dessy's, made even later by hours spent with Cullen keeping the moon company, and I'm exhausted.

"What's going on out there?" I interrupt his flow. He's making me look bad.

"No idea."

A screwed up piece of paper bounces off my head. "Get writing, Swan."

"I don't need to."

"How's that?"

I turn my head over to him. "Cause I'll just copy yours."

"I've cribbed most of it from this book." He taps the open text with his pen. "I might let you borrow it later."

"Might?"

"Well, it depends if we can come to sort of a deal."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. The book for unlimited access to your sweets. And if you throw in some cans of pop, I'll mark the pages up for you."

"Are sweets and pop code words?"

His grin is devastating. I throw my pen across the room, it misses his head by inches and bounces off the wall behind him.

It's still rolling across the floor when Cope returns. Her lips are pinched, forehead riddled with creases as she worries at the small locket around her neck, sliding it back and forth along the chain.

"Mr. Cullen, can I have a word with you please?" Her eyes flash to mine, which are wide with curiosity. "Outside."

He shoots me a look of shock, and I sit bolt upright.

"Um … Yeah?" He's unsure, but he slides out of his seat and joins her at the front of the class.

"On second thought, get your things. I'm not sure how long this will take." She has hold of the door handle, but she waits for him to gather his stuff.

He takes a detour on his way out and hands me his textbook. "Page 132."

I see the concern in the set of his jaw. "I'll wait for you out front," I mouth, and he nods.

She opens the door and as they walk out, her hand hovers for a second on his elbow in a gesture of sympathy, or pity, that locks my bones in place. It dials the moment up loud.

It's deafening when I see the Head is standing in the corridor flanked by two policemen. Mrs. Cope stops beside them with Cullen and they begin to escort him away. He looks over his shoulder, searching for me. I jump to my feet and scramble to the door, but he's already halfway gone, his head drooping, feet dragging. My heart sinks like a sack of bricks in a hollow chest.

The rumours do the rounds like wildfire.

Drug were found in a locker.

No one knows whose they are.

Simple elimination goes like this:

Everyone has a locker allocated.

Everyone but Cullen.

He's been using a spare.

So has someone else.

Words like investigation and suspension, history and karma, are bounced about the school like grenades.

He doesn't come back to Cope's.

He doesn't come to lunch or Form.

I wait for him outside the gates.

The rain doesn't let up. My clothes are soaked. My bones are cold. My teeth chatter with no one else to talk to. I have to catch the bus before panic sets in like pneumonia.

He's not waiting at mine, or the bridge or at Dessy's. He's not in school the next day, the one after.

He doesn't come back at all.

* * *

 _AN: Thanks for reading, sorry I was late. This week has been hellish._

 _Love to Choc for reading this through. Now beta'd by my fav Kim. x_


	27. Chapter 27

**Twenty Seven.**

"What did you do?" I shove Paul as hard as I can. He's not expecting it, so bashes into the edge of the pool table. The laughter from his friends turns us both red.

"What the hell, Bella? I've not done anything. Back off." He stands up and takes a step toward me, pool cue in hand. I reach out for it and try and rip it away from him, but Sam pushes between us. "Can we please just talk this through?"

"No, we can't," I grind out like smashed glass.

I roped Sam into helping me find Cullen, the only person with time to burn, an available car, and who was a willing accomplice. He'd been happy to be my driver while we tried to track down anyone who could fill in the ever increasing blanks. He's not so keen now.

Rage is pulsing through my veins like lava. I explode again. "You fucked with Cullen and now he's gone. Are you happy?"

Sam has turned around now, wrapping his arms around me and pinning them to my sides. "Cut it out, B. Let's just go."

I thrash around but he's stronger. "You'll get what's coming to you. Just wait and see." I spit though there's nothing I can do, but I'm too furious to see that yet.

"She's crazy." Ben laughs, his sneer full of malice and vindication. Without Cullen here he's back to his place at the top of the food chain, and enjoying every scrap.

"Let's _go_ , Bella," Sam repeats, pushing me backwards without letting go.

"No, I want to know what happened, what they've done. They hate him and now they've got rid of him. Just as they wanted. I'm not stupid. You're not stupid. Tell me you don't think it was them?" I plead with Sam as he keeps walking me away from the fault lines. I'm shaking under his grip.

"We don't know anything other than he's been suspended while they investigate. They might be wrong, and you've not even spoken to Cullen yet. We don't know what happened. You have to hear his side first. There could be a reason he had the drugs."

I'm not picky in my anger so I swing it over to him like a lump hammer. "A reason he had it? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means nothing. Just you need to hear his side first."

"You think it was him, don't you?"

Sam sighs and swipes his hair back from his face. "What do you really know about him, B?"

"I know he wouldn't do that."

"You've known him for two minutes." He waves as the gathering crowd behind us. "You've known them for years. I'm not saying he did or didn't do it, but just wait to throw the accusations around until you know, 'kay?"

Everyone's eyes are on us, punching holes in me. I can feel the pieces fluttering to the floor. Without anything to back me up I'm struggling to stand up against them. If I can't get anyone to believe in him, how will he ever want to come back? "You're supposed to be my friend, and his too, and I'm asking for you to help me."

"I said I'd help you find him, not start a fight."

"Well, I'm running out of ideas."

Sam leads me away from the pool hall, back into the reception. I slam the door on them all as hard as I can.

It draws Carmen out of her office like a startled rabbit. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just taking Bella home now." Sam tries to drag me away.

"Is everything alright?" She's the hardest person you could ever want to fool so I don't even try.

I let go of his hand, turning to face her. "No, but I'll be okay."

"Come and talk to me." She opens her door wider and gestures for me to come in, a hundred bangles jangle on her arm. It's an order not a suggestion.

My shoulders slump, and I give up for tonight, banking on him finally turning up tomorrow. "You can go, Sam. I'll get the bus back."

"I'll wait." He takes a seat outside her office and folds his arms.

"Go. Honestly, I'm fine," I say, and close the door behind me, 99% sure he'll be there when I come out.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she asks, turning her small kettle on.

I shake my head, but she's makes one anyway, spooning enough sugar in to make my teeth fall out. I sit on the small patchwork settee by her desk and accept the steaming cup, sipping the sickly sweet tea. I realise I've not eaten anything all day so the sugar rush is appreciated.

Carmen sits beside me, tucking her wild hair behind her ears as she pushes her glasses onto the top of her head. "So, sweetheart, do you want to talk about what's happened? Is it the new boy?"

I'm not surprised she's heard about him and me. Carmen knows everyone and anyone who walks through this building. I'd be amazed if she didn't already know more about his life than I do. She will definitely know he's been suspended, but I humour her. "He was suspended from school. They found drugs in his locker … or one he was using. But I know it wasn't him."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do." I'm frustrated I don't have more to give, backup to explain the feelings I have about him. It's a sharp shock of realisation of how little I know. "I've been spending a lot of time with him, and he's never done anything to make me think he'd have any drugs."

"Perhaps there's another explanation?"

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure, that's what you'll have to work out, what you need to ask him, but you should wait for him to talk to you before you play the blame game. It'll only end badly if you're wrong." Her eyes are as blue as the oceans on the other side of the world, ones I've never had the chance to see. They're calm and reassuring, and I feel the dam ready to burst in my chest, wanting to spill out.

"Ever since they laid eyes on him, the night of the party, they've hated him."

She jumps on the titbit like a hawk. "Why, what happened then?"

I realise this is my chance to tell the truth about Ben and the party, to talk to someone who would know how to deal with it, an adult who can tell me what to do and to hold my hand through it all, something I've never had. But still, there is something that stops me. I shore up the flow before it becomes a tsunami. "Nothing really, just macho stuff. But it changed how they all think of him."

"So you think they'd, whoever they are, planned this?"

"I don't know, maybe." I'm so tired, I could curl up in her office and sleep for a week, hoping when I wake, things will be back the way they were.

"Why?"

She's worse than Cope. "To get back at him for me. For us being friends and … more."

"But surely even if they did that, it wouldn't stop you from seeing him outside of school, so it wouldn't be a very good plan."

"I suppose, but I don't know where he lives. I don't know how to get in touch with him unless he comes to find me at home or at school."

"He didn't tell you where he lives?"

"He lives in Adswood."

"I see." Carmen has a stream of kids from the estates through her door, she knows what growing up there entails, what it can produce from its deepest, murkiest depths. She's thrown numerous lifejackets out for them and saved many, but others try to drag themselves and everyone else back down with them. "You mustn't go looking for him there."

I nod, but I already know I will.

"He hasn't told me much. He's … private about his past. He got involved in some things … but he's changed," I say, and start to wonder why I think this is the truth myself. Carmen reaches over and takes my hand, brushing her thumb over the back of it. "Bella, if he wants to find you, he will."

The chance that he might not is one I can't imagine. He's inked onto my skin like the mural of the sea monster. Seeping into my cells so his absence has left a mark too deep to scrub away without causing damage.

I need to find him before I lose myself.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading as always._

 _Love to Kim and Choc. Kim prettified this for me and she also sorted out last chapter, too. They're the best._


	28. Chapter 28

**Twenty Eight.**

Adswood clings to the edge of civilisation by its fingertips.

If Shelton is sinking, Adswood is already under.

When Cullen doesn't turn up to school, and no one will tell me what's happened, I get the 57 bus that drops me off outside the Blossoms.

It's four in the afternoon. I give myself until six, when the sun goes down. Then the vampires come out, and I need to be out of reach of their fangs.

I'm already gathering looks from the patrons of the seedy pub. I hurry away, aiming for the estate. The last thing I need to do is look like I don't belong.

I figure if he's staying with his aunt, she might be known around the neighbourhood. I dip into the local newsagents and grab a bar of chocolate for a valid reason to talk to them.

The woman behind the counter is happy enough to witter away once I let her know I'm happy to listen. We go through the weather, the price of milk, the rumours of Charles and Diana's marriage crisis splashed across the front of the Daily Mail. My cheeks are hurting from holding up the small talk and fraudulent smile. "Actually, I was wondering if you could help me with something. I've got some work from school I need to drop off for my friend who's been off sick. He's new to town, lives around here with his aunt."

"Oh dear, that's a shame, what is his name?" She's all heart and gossip. I can see the spark of excitement behind her tortoise-shell glasses.

"His surname is Cullen but that might not be hers. I'm sure he told me but I've forgotten, and I'd really like to get these books to him so he doesn't fall behind."

"That's kind of you." She smiles down on me. "Now you mention it, that name does ring a bell. I think someone with that surname might live in Yew Tree. Yes, yes, she sometimes come here for magazines and cigarettes. You could always go and knock on. Won't do any harm now, will it?"

I use the last of my fuel to spark a smile. "Thank you, I'll try that. Which one is Yew Tree?"

"Sharp left out of here and to the end of the street. You'll see the playground out front of the block. It's the building on the left." She finally takes my coins and rings up the sale. "Hope you find your friend."

"Thank you."

I'm out the door, its bell ringing behind me before she can start up another conversation.

It doesn't take long to find the playground. It's filled with kids who should have grown out of slides and swings a long time ago. They sit, sprawled across the climbing frame, smoking and making too much noise. I hesitate but push on, walking past them. There's a noticeable moment of silence as they spot me, eyeing me up, deciding how far to push their luck. A gobby one shouts over. "Alright, love. Need something?" He grabs the crotch of his tracksuit and all his mates laugh. How predictable.

"Crabs? No thanks," I bite back to a round of hissing and laughter. "I'm looking from someone called Cullen. Know him?"

They all exchange glances, but the resounding answer after the uneasy silence is _no_. "Can't help you with that."

"Thanks for nothing," I say and they laugh again and start to rip into their leader. I try and put as much distance between me and them as I can. Though they're harmless, their noise might draw out others who aren't.

I find a bank of letter boxes in the stairwell, scanning the names for the one I recognise. _Brown. Smith. McDonnal. Goodchild. Parry._ No Cullen. But some are just numbers, so I head up to the next floor and knock on the first door I come across with signs of life coming from under it.

It swings open revealing an old lady with a cat slinking around her ankles. The warm smell of cabbage makes me flinch.

"I'm not interested," she says, eyeing the bag on my shoulder before I can get a word in edgeways, already closing the door on me.

"I'm not here to sell stuff, I'm looking for someone - Cullen? He's about my age, just moved here."

She leaves the door open a crack. "I don't know anyone around here by that name."

"Please, do you know anyone else who could help?" I'm not beyond begging now I'm so close.

"Try Tanya on the second floor, flat 4B. She runs the resident committee." She closes the door in my face.

"Thank you!" I yell with a slice of sarcasm.

Turns out Tanya knows exactly who I'm talking about. I only have to tell her my name, and of course, she knows my mother. They're gin and bingo buddies, so she's bursting to tell me everything she knows about Mary Alice Cullen, now Alice Brandon, who lives a couple of levels up. A single Mum with a deadbeat ex-husband, who works late shifts cleaning at the hospital, who keeps to herself, but will have a smile, or a scowl, for you depending on the day of the week. But Tanya's blue-shadowed eyes and frosted pink lips are blank when I mention a teenaged boy. Still, I thank her profusely and race up to Alice Brandon's floor.

A sallow-skinned, hollow-eyed woman opens the door. A pink, chubby baby sits on her hip. She jiggles him up and down while she eyes me up. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm looking for someone. A friend from school."

Hollow-eyes narrow into a question. Nerves steal my voice.

"I … um … I'm looking for Cullen? Does he live here?" My hope is draining as fast as her patience.

"No, he doesn't."

My heart trips over itself. "You know who I mean?"

"Yeah, I know." She speaks softly to the baby fussing at her side. They have matching round, brown eyes like buttons. "He's not here."

"Do you know where he is only I … brought some work for him. Maybe—"

"He's not here. Hasn't been for a while." The baby starts to paw at her, whimpers turning to wails. "If you find him, tell him I need to talk to him." And with that, another door is slammed in my face.

The back of my eyelids start to burn. I knock again.

"Are you serious?" She swings the door open again ready to yell, but I hold my hands up.

"Please, I need to find him."

"You and everyone else."

"Do you know where he could be? When did he last come home."

"Look …"

"Bella," I fill in for her.

"Bella, Edward hasn't been here for weeks. I've no clue where he would be. That kid does whatever he wants when he wants, but he always turns up eventually. Out of his nine lives he's gotta have at least two left."

I don't focus on what that means, and this other name that doesn't fit, skipping to the next question pushing its way in front of the hundreds of others. "Why isn't he living here with you?"

She flushes red. "We came to an arrangement." It's clipped with annoyance.

"An arrangement?"

"You can ask him when you find him. I gotta go. And you should, too. I'm sorry I can't help you more." With that, she disappears again, leaving me standing in the cold, confused and lost at the end of the trail with nothing to show but a chocolate bar.

It's getting dark outside. As dark as the parts of my mind where Cullen has taken up too much space. A boy I know nothing about. A stranger whose shadow I can't shake. Whose kisses are the light I use to keep me going. But the longer he's away, the more I stumble. It won't be long before it's too dark to remember why I'm out looking at all.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing. I'm away for Easter so there will be a mid-season break. I won't be too long though. See you on the other side. x_

 _Love as always to vampireshavelaws and chocaholic1234. My superstars._


	29. Chapter 29

**Twenty Nine.**

I stew in my thoughts for days.

No sign of Cullen, or Edward, or E. Whoever the hell he is.

I wear different emotions. Anger fits best the longer I keep it on. I bite my mum's head off when she asks me about him. She doesn't care and keeps on at me, prodding and poking me into an angry wasps' nest.

Angie and Jess treat him as if he never existed, a ghost as flimsy as my smile. Sam asks questions without speaking, and is able to decipher my silent answers well enough to leave me alone. Rose is the only one who worries about him with her soft heart and ruminating mind. It's not healthy for me to spend too much time with her. My stomach plummets like a rock when I let myself think about him.

I take to hanging around at Delly's. In Carmen's company, I feel most comfortable. She lets me work in the back office to keep me occupied and away from trouble, but also to keep a quiet eye on me, and for that, I'm grateful.

It's been almost two weeks since Cullen was escorted from school. Another day spent at the club, I drag my feet as we finally lock up. I've no other reasons to avoid going home. I hope Mum is out or at least alone. My tolerance for bullshit has burnt out. The shrill sound of sirens race past us, a blur of neon-blue screams, as Carmen pulls down the shutters. One after the other. Police, fire engine. Police, fire engine. Ambulance.

Carmen crosses herself, muttering Hail Marys under her breath. "Do you need a lift home? It's not too far out of my way."

A bus pulls up opposite, its brakes squeal and hiss. "No, I'll catch the forty-three. Thanks though."

"Take care tonight, Bella. I'll see you this weekend." She gives me a hug and disappears around the corner in a flurry of colour and curls, and I cross the road and jump on the bus.

We don't get far. The road ahead is closed, traffic snarled up as people try to get home, redirected through the back streets. It'll be quicker to walk, so I ring the bell, and jump off. The air is churning with the smell of burning wood and toxic plastic. I catch the whisps of a conversation between a policeman and a man balancing on his bike, edging to be let through.

"There's a fire down on Mill Road. No traffic is being let through, Sir. If you follow the signs, they'll lead you around and back onto Highgrove."

I should walk alongside the stopped cars, but I know the shortcuts. The light is fading fast but it's not witching hour yet. I slip up an alleyway and round the back of the buildings. I'm not the only one who's had the same idea. We're safety in numbers.

Around the corner we see the building, fire crawling up its side. A crowd has gathered to watch from behind a cordon. We're a distance away, but the heat still snakes its way over and flicks its tongue on our cheeks. Water is being sprayed into the upstairs window, already blackened and crumbling. It's no match.

The row of old shops is mostly derelict, waiting for the demolition teams and the developers to move in. This fire is doing their job for them, tearing the building apart flicker by flicker, eating at its insides. I overhear someone say it's a hairdressers, that the stock went up in seconds. I think I can smell the hairspray. It reminds me of mum.

I should go home, but I still find myself there when the sun has disappeared, the flames painted on the back of my eyes when most people have moved on. The building's skeleton is still holding, but its bones are brittle, and it won't be long before they're dust.

As it gives up the fight, heaves its last breath and collapses, cracking and splintering, I see a figure sat away from the dwindling crowd. He's sat on a wall, his hood up, hands in pockets. The flames dancing for his pleasure.

I edge around the crowd to get closer, to make sure I'm not seeing things, but there's no mistaking Cullen. The shock is a backdraft, heat flooding my cheeks, sucking all the air from my lungs. He's mesmerised. The flames set alight the look on his face, the small smile that shouldn't exist so close to destruction.

I step back, disappearing into the crowd to be invisible, but never taking my eyes off him. I've learnt my lesson. He is one of the last to leave, but not before me.

I wait until he's far enough away to follow him, keeping to the shadows. I'm sure he'll hear me, my heart louder than footsteps, but he doesn't turn around, still lost in the flames.

He's quick and keeps to the dark edges too, but I see him so easily now, like a spark escaped from the fire. It draws me closer. He's the oxygen I need to burn.

* * *

 _Sorry this took so long. Life happened. I missed you guys. This is an unbeta'd mess._

 _Layathomemom - you're the nuts._

 _xx_


	30. Chapter 30

**30.**

Cullen takes an unexpected turn under the arches. The viaduct looms above us like an ancient monster. Layers of faded gig-posters, and the colourful declarations of love and identity daubed on its walls, seem to be the only things holding it up as a train rattles overhead, shaking century-old dust loose.

He doesn't change his pace, but the change in direction helps me catch on to his destination. My suspicions are confirmed when he turns left, stepping onto the hallowed ground of Shelton. I hesitate, not wanting to be seen under the brighter lights, and almost lose him, but then he makes one final shift in trajectory, surprising me again. He crosses the faded grass that fronts a row of crooked council houses, the teeth at the edge of the estate. Shawbank Row might appear rotten to outsiders, but for locals, they're gold plated. The best accommodation benefits can buy, and home to Sam and his family.

Cullen disappears into their house. I'm confused for a second, until another ticks by and then I'm pissed off. I'm about to storm up and bang on their door but my eyes land on the phone box across the street like grapple hooks, dragging me away from one bad idea to another.

I'm already planning how to play it as I walk over, what to say, how to find out what the hell these two are doing, and to work out why no one thought to tell me about this cozy little friendship. I shove twenty pence in the phone and balance the receiver between my shoulder and ear, punching the numbers in from memory with enough force to leave an ache in my finger as it rings.

I try to ignore the acidic smells wafting around my feet, instead reading an old business card tucked into the door that reads ' _Scarlett Sloane. Frisky fun from your wildest dreams. Call me, Big boy.'_ A sweaty and balding man with a husky voice and a way with words appears in my mind. I shudder as Mrs Uley picks up the phone. She's happy to hear from me but keen to get back to her programmes, so after the obligatory but fake concern for Mum's well-being (the two being from opposing planets) she shouts for Sam. I strain to hear any noises in the background but only the familiar soap theme tune fills the quiet while I wait.

"Bella?" Sam doesn't hide his surprise. I ring him on average about once a year, knowing our paths will cross before the sun goes down without a doubt or a plan. "You alright?"

 _What the fuck is going on?_ "Hey Sam." _Why the hell is Cullen in your house?_ "Yeah fine, just wanted to see what you're up to?"

He's speaking too closely to the handset, it muffles his voice but not the confusion. "Um … not much. Are you sure you're okay?"

 _No._ "Yeah honest." Honesty is not the best policy. "Kinda bored. You coming out later?"

"Oh … well, I've got some stuff to do here tonight, so maybe see you tomorrow?"

I lose my cool. "Stuff like what?"

"This thing for Mum … to do with insurance or something, and I've got some homework."

I laugh at this lie. "Really?"

I can imagine him scratching his neck, a habit of nerves he's had since we were six years old and getting told off for breaking or eating stuff we shouldn't. At his house. Not mine. Nothing was off limits at mine. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

A thousand questions hammer against my teeth, but I keep quiet.

He's worried about me, and I should feel bad, but with the image of Cullen next to him, deep in their little secret, I don't at all. I don't respond.

"You still there … Bella?" Five seconds of radio silence. "Shit."

He's muffled again, but this time talking to someone else. I can't make out the words and then they're drowned out by the beeps. Time's up. I replace the handset and push out of the rancid box into the fresh air. I'm over on my side of the estate before I realise Sam will check who called and know I was right outside his house. They'll both know. And then they'll know _I_ know.

But that thought is knocked out of my mind with another altogether nastier reality. Marcus is standing outside our block with a gang of layabouts and thugs around him, ones who are as ingrained in this place as the bird shit and graffiti. I watch for a minute from the cover of a clump of trees, pressed against the trunk of the gnarled oak old enough to remember a time when hell wasn't knocking on our doors. It's clear the gang are familiar with Marcus. His hair is slick and shiny under the lights, his motions shifty, his words holding their attention too easily. Laughter and secretive whispers circle around them, too far away to catch. Marcus raises his hand and gestures to our flat, where no doubt mum is passed out and alone. Five sets of eyes zero in. Unease wraps its fingers around my throat.

A branch snaps making me jump, as I sense someone beside me, too late to dart away. But then my panic is calmed by a quiet voice and the scent of smoke that's still clinging to Cullen. "You know them?"

"Some of them."

"Who's that?" He nods his head toward the group, not needing to differentiate, I know who he means. The shark amongst the minnows.

"Marcus Volturi."

There's no recognition, but he frowns and tips his head to the side, the coin of information dropping down, banked for later on. "You know _him_?"

I don't answer as I watch him and his new cronies dispersing like ghouls into the night. I don't want to know him, so saying nothing at all is wishful thinking.

I turn to Cullen as he starts to speak again, cutting him off with a shake of my head. Marcus has deflated my anger and my emotions are strung out and tangled up. I don't pretend I don't care where he's been. He doesn't pretend everything okay either. "I'm tired of…" I want to say of you, of this, of everything, but I know they'd be false claims. "I'm just tired."

He rolls his lip between his teeth, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I'll come back tomorrow then," he says leaving me no room to argue.

I nod and walk away from him, but the farther I get, the higher the my anxiety and curiosity dials so I stop and call back, "You can come over now," turning back away before I see his reaction.

We walk home in silence, his hands in his pockets, mine clutching onto my last shred of composure. Mum, to my surprise, is out, making Marcus' presence more worrying. I lock and bolt the door behind us, drawing the latch across.

I turn and rest my back against it as Cullen waits for me in the darkened hallway. I try to hide the relief that his presence has brought, but it's making my bones weightless, my chest lighter than it's been in weeks.

He eyes the barricaded door, an eyebrow drawing up. "I thought you I told you to stay out of trouble."

I'm torn between throwing a punch and catching a laugh.

The laugh wins out.

* * *

 _AN: LOVE YOU ALL. Thank you for still being here and for asking after me. I'm all good, just spinning one too many plates and some had to give. Smash, Crash, Bang and all that._

 _Thanks to G for reading this for me._

 _Unbeta'd again._

 _x_


	31. Chapter 31

**Thirty One.**

The smoke clinging to his clothes releases its grip as he wanders into our flat, trailing in his path. It's a smell I associate with him since the day by the mural, embers burning in the oil drums nearby, and deep in my stomach as we kissed.

"Your mum's out?" he asks, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the dining room chairs. He shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for me to make the next move.

"I guess." I glance into her room, her unmade bed, dirty plates and clothes strewn over the floor, and pull the bedroom door to. He doesn't need to see how little she cares about herself. I go to the fridge and peer into the cold, bright light, finding nothing apart from leftover Chinese, a mouldy lemon and a bottle of tonic water. "Can't offer you much, you want some water?" I close the door hard enough to rattle it against the lino.

"I'm good thanks." He's still stood in the same spot, his eyes on everything but mine.

I say the one thing I know will draw them back to me. "Where did you go?"

"I went back home."

"To Manchester?"

"Yeah, I needed to see someone and as I was suspended," he shrugs, "seemed like as good a time as any."

"You could have told me," I say and immediately wish I hadn't, my voice sounding needy in a way I've never heard it before. The image of him disappearing into Sam's house still fresh in my mind.

"I know." He reaches a hand out to me, but I don't move an inch. "I'm sorry," he adds.

I fold my arms to create an extra barrier but keep my mouth shut. He looks different to when I last saw him. Older somehow. His hair is the same uncoordinated mess, his stubble the darkest shadow, but it's his eyes. When he's not looking at me, they're harder, tiredness has drawn dark circles and something else has sharpened them. I need him to tell me what before we can move on.

He searches out for another subject, another way in. "I didn't do what they accused me of at school."

I choke out a laugh. "I know that."

"Do you?"

His response makes me pause. Do I know that? Do I know anything about this boy who trades in secrets I can never seem to afford. "I don't believe you did it. Maybe that makes me stupid." He's somehow closer, but I still keep behind the line I've drawn. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm not doing this anymore. If you can't trust me … talk to me … then the best thing is to just stop."

"Stop what?" His eyes are all over me now and I wish they'd go back to the worn settee and piles of unopened letters, even the excruciatingly awful school pictures with Mum's DIY haircuts.

"Why were you watching the fire?" I ask.

"Why were you?"

 _I was watching you._ "Lots of people stopped there."

He smiles to prove his point and I want to frown but his grin catches the edges of my lips and lifts them up even as I fight it.

"You are the most annoying person I have ever met."

"Thanks."

"It's not a compliment."

"It means you're thinking about me. That's not a bad thing."

"And did you think about me when you disappeared?"

"I've not stopped thinking about you since you walked into detention."

I feel my body softening to him. I let my arms drop.

"You're going to tell me what's been going on then?"

He doesn't get to answer before I hear two noises, one a lot more terrifying than the first. A key scratching against the lock, and Marcus' laugh, a sound colder than cracking ice. I freeze, eyes wide, and grab Cullen's jacket and throw it to him.

"Should I go?" he asks.

The vision of Marcus and Cullen crossing paths spins through my mind, the possibilities are bad enough that I snatch his hand and shake my head. "No, come with me."

I drag him out of the living room and into my bedroom, closing the door and grabbing my desk chair, pushing it up against the handle to lock us in. Cullen comes and leans one hand against the door as if to add his weight too, but his attention is not on the voices outside in the hall but on me again. It dawns on me that barricading yourself in your house and then your bedroom probably isn't normal behaviour. "Should I be worried?" His voice is low as he tilts his head toward the intruders.

I consider laughing it off but I hear Marcus say my name, the context lost behind the thick walls, and any lightness in my heart drains out onto my threadbare carpet. "Probably."

His breath is warm against my face, I feel the words as well as hear them. His lips are so close to my ear "Who is he?"

"Mum's current boyfriend."

"What did you say his name was again? He … something seems familiar about him."

I wince at the volume of his voice and put a finger to my lips. The last thing I want is for them to hear I've someone in here with me. My heart thumps in my chest as the wanted part of my life hurtles closer to the unwanted. Someone turns on the TV cutting into the heavy silence, allowing me to answer him. "Marcus. Marcus Volturi. He's … there's nothing good when he's around."

The creases in his forehead deepen. "Why not?"

"He runs with a gang, or used to, called the Bloods. They moved onto bigger things than this place. He moved on too which was a relief because he didn't treat mum well, not at all, but she loved … _loves_ … him even after everything." It hurts me to admit that to Cullen. It's painful that Marcus is back and I can't do anything to stop him from destroying her all over again. "I think he was locked up for a bit but he crawled back to mum a few months ago. I don't know why. I can't work it out."

Cullen's hand curls into a fist against the door and I'm afraid he's going to thump it. He steadies himself with a deep breath, his hand opening back out to press against the wood. "Bella, when I asked you whether I should be worried about this … the answer should have been _yes_."

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for (still) reading and for Choc and_ _Gemmah for reading this over for me. x_


	32. Chapter 32

**Thirty Two.**

We stand in silence, both unsure what's next.

There's no way out, not without Mum and Marcus seeing. I can hear the murmurs of their voices, the opening and closing of cupboards, cutlery rattling in draws as someone slams them shut, the hiss of a can of lager being opened. A sign they're not going anywhere soon.

Mum taps on my door making Cullen jump. He takes a step backwards into the shadows behind my door.

"You in there, Bella?"

I flap my arms unsure what to do, but Cullen inclines his head and mouths, "Say something".

"Yeah?" I manage a panicked croak but Mum reads nothing more into it than the obvious.

"You're sleeping?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want anything to eat?" she asks, though I know there's nothing to offer.

"No I'm good. Already eaten." I press my hand to my stomach as it clenches in hunger at the lie.

"Alright, sleep tight."

"Night." I eye the glowing numbers on my clock. It's 9:24pm. I look at Cullen as Mum's footsteps head back to the living room.

"I guess I'm stuck here for the night?" A sliver of a grin on his face.

"They'll pass out eventually."

"Better get comfy then." He slides down to the floor, kicking one leg out in front of him, keeping the other bent, his arm resting on it.

I hover, unsure what to do with Cullen in my room, Marcus outside. I opt for sitting on the floor opposite him. There's little room for me in here nevermind a 6 ft boy, and we need to keep quiet. The other option involves my bed and I'm not ready to be inviting Cullen there, sitting or otherwise, no matter what my increasingly careless side thinks.

"You recognised his name … Marcus?"

A quick shake of his head, a hand reaching out to tug on the frayed hem of my jeans. "Not his name."

"The gang?"

A nod. His eyebrows pull tight while he twists the thread around his finger. I think he's deciding how much to say, but then he doesn't speak at all. Winding, unwinding over and over. He sighs and tips his head back, resting it against my wardrobe. Mum is watching one of her soaps. I can almost guess what's happening by the screeching of the characters voices. It's something to focus on to stop myself from pushing Cullen too far.

In the end I tap the outside of his leg with my shoe to draw his attention back. He sighs again and scrubs his hand down his face. "It's a long story. And not one with a happy ending."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed but I didn't grow up in a fairytale," I wave at the clock, "and we've got a lot of time."

He starts to talk. Facing the worn carpet rather than me, his hand rests on the back of his neck. "I went back home to see my brother this week. It was his birthday."

"I didn't know you had a brother." The fizz I feel at him finally telling me something I didn't know, disappears when he looks at me. His face is set like stone, hard enough to hold up the devastation in his eyes.

"I don't." He says and pulls both his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. I instinctively do the same, afraid of what he's going to say, afraid my heart might tip onto the floor. "Not anymore."

"I'm sorry." I say, as we all do in these moments when faced with someone's peeled back exterior, raw wounds glistening.

"We lost him way before we _lost_ him," he says checking to see if I get his point. I nod for him to carry on. "Em always ran with the wrong people. Drinking, crashing stolen cars for laughs, nicking sweets and pop from the corner shop for me." A faint smile at the memory, another piece aligning with the Cullen I know. The 7-Up king. Sugar addict. "Then he fucked up and ended up owing money to the Bloods."

A flash of recognition stands the hairs on my arms on end.

"I don't know what or why but he ended up dealing for them. Only small time stuff. Then he started to take a liking to the goods. And that's a slippery fucking slope into hell. He lost his job, his car..." Nothing he's saying is a shock to me. So far it could be the life story of any number of people I've crossed paths with living in Shelton. "He wound up being kicked out of his bedsit and instead of coming home he chose to sleep rough."

I fight the urge to move closer, horrified as he lays out the gory details, but afraid he might stop before we get to the crux of the danger that now lives so close to me.

"We tried everything but at the end of the day he wouldn't get help." He shrugs and faces away from me, the tired, less-than-white artex on the wall easier to look at. "He was in too deep with them and then well … you know about the fire don't you?"

"The fire at the warehouse? The one you did time for?" A shiver passes across my body, a ghost digging it's heels in as I remember what he said.

"Yeah. That one."

It takes a minute for the thoughts to collide. "Your brother was sleeping in that building … when it-"

"Yes." His lips are pressed tight, teeth biting the inside of his cheek until they twist into a grimace. "But the fire didn't kill him."

I pause, ready to question, but his demeanour shivers, starts to crumble, so I crawl over to him, taking his hand and pulling it into my lap, easing his clenched fist open. "Who did?"

Marcus' voice slashes through our bubble in answer to my question. " _Fucking hell."_ The front door slams then another I guess is Mum's bedroom. I cringe at the loud noise. I'm surprised it took them this long to have an argument, disappointed it means there's an opportunity for Cullen to leave.

Cullen's grim face is enough to confirm my thoughts about his brother. The Bloods. They killed him. Maybe not Marcus himself, but if they still run through his veins the way they used to, I've no problems placing blame at his feet.

We sit in silence again, ears straining for noise, but other than the TV, there's nothing.

Cullen starts to get up, I scramble to my feet too, letting go of his hand. "I should go," he says. "Incase he comes back."

I shake my head. "He won't."

He doesn't trust that and it makes his decision for him. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For leaving, for not telling you. It's just … it's not something I ever talk about." He reaches past me for his jacket. "I don't know the full story myself even though I was blamed for setting the fire, but I know they did it, and now they're here. I just…" he trails off and shakes his head like he's got a bad taste in his mouth. "I should go."

He's got hold of the door handle when he stops and turns back. In two strides his lips are on mine, his fingers sliding into my hair, crushing me with his intensity. I'm almost too shocked to respond but his kiss demands my attention. It's desperate, heart-racing and raw. I reach out to grab his shirt, twisting the warm cotton to bring him closer, tasting the smoke on his skin. But before it can go further he pulls back leaving me gasping, before I'm ready to let go. "I'll meet you at the club tomorrow night."

He checks the hallway, pausing for a second before deciding it's clear and disappearing from view. I'm still trying to catch my breath as I follow him, only seeing a glimpse of him disappearing into the dark night.

I lean my whole body against the front door, letting the latch click in quietly as I shut the cold air out. My heart hammering against the wood I try slow everything down, his admission and the connections to my life, are racing laps around my mind. I try to find ways to believe it's a nasty coincidence.

Everything crashes to a halt when I hear a short, sharp laugh, when I realise our error. Spinning around, I'm face to face with Marcus whose leaning against the door frame, arms folded, eyes narrow and intrusive, a lager can in his hand. "Well, well, well. Does your mother know about him? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree - whores beget whores - so they say."

I don't give him chance to say one more word. Without Mum here and after what Cullen's told me, I can't bring myself to breath the same air as him. This risk of shoving a kitchen knife into his back is too high. I rip the door open and race out into the dark, his laughter dragging it's claws down my back, my scream of rage choking me entirely.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading. As always you guys keep me going._

 _Thanks Choc for reading this over for me. It's unbetad so all mistake are mine._

 _S xx_


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